


Journey to the Past

by cmev



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:47:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24342274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmev/pseuds/cmev
Summary: MacKenzie Randall's life turned upside down many years ago when Claire told her, along with sister Brianna, the true story about their father, James Fraser. Claire went back through the stones to reunite with Jamie, comforted by the idea of Brianna and MacKenzie having each other to rely on. But then one day, Brianna went through the stones as well, without so much as a goodbye to MacKenzie. MacKenzie has lived the past two years of her life as a college student, alone in the 21st Century. MacKenzie, motivated by the desire to be reunited with Claire and Brianna, and even to meet James Fraser, goes through the stones herself. What happens, though, when she makes it to Fraser's Ridge and she comes to the realization that she is an outsider? What happens when she realizes just how much time has passed since she last saw Brianna, and she says some things that she can't take back?
Comments: 5
Kudos: 47





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Brianna and MacKenzie are less than a year apart in age in this story; Brianna was born before Jamie sent Claire back through the stones, and Claire was pregnant with MacKenzie when she arrives back in the future. I've adjusted the years in this story; Claire was a doctor in the 21st Century, and Brianna and MacKenzie grew up in the 21st Century as well.

There’s just something about Boston in the fall. The leaves change the most brilliant variation of reds and oranges, little kids hobble around the city parks with their parents in oversized sweatshirts, and life just generally feels light and breezy. 

Boston has a lot of history, as well. One of the earliest settled cities in the United States, Boston exudes an overwhelming sense of patriotism. Home to Boston Harbor, the sight of the Boston Tea Party, which propelled the colonies into war with Britain. Boston also is a battlefield for those lives lost at the Boston Massacre, when British troops opened fire on the colonists, creating the first fatalities of the American Revolution. The perfect location, then, for a History Major with a concentration in Colonial America.

I think the history gene runs in the family. My dad was a historian, though his specialty was in genealogy, more specifically his genealogical connection to the Jacobite Uprisings of the 18th Century. His specialty was very specific, though every course he taught at Harvard was always full, with many students on the waitlist to get into one of his lectures. Mom, unfortunately, did not pass on the scientific gene to me. I had to take pre-calculus 3 times just to pass and get my college credit. No, history is definitely more my specialty. I grew up going to Dad’s office after school with Brianna because Mom worked the late shift at the hospital. I remember countless occasions where the two of us sat in on one of his lectures, and I think the niche for history just became engrained in my mind.

Boston is also home to Harvard University, generally considered the oldest university in the United States; also, one of the most prestigious universities in the world. Mom and Dad worked hard all our lives to send Brianna and I to good schools, and we definitely got a better education than other students around the country. Brianna, however, breezed her way through high school; straight A’s, honor roll, homecoming queen, class valedictorian. She aced her standardized tests and was accepted to Harvard early decision. Sounds pretty nice, right? Me, on the other hand, found high school less than exciting and I took the SAT three separate times to get a score that Harvard would even look at. Even then, I got waitlisted. It wasn’t until a month before classes were to start that I got an acceptance letter. He would never tell me, but I’m fairly certain that Dad pulled some strings for me.

There was a time when Dad, Brianna, and I all were at Harvard together. Dad taught, and Brianna and I were students. Life seemed so easy back then. Bree and I lived on campus, but I found myself going home a lot, home only being a mere 30 minutes away. I missed my mom, and I enjoyed those Friday nights when I would pull into the driveway and find her sipping a glass of wine in the kitchen unwinding from a long day of being a badass surgeon. We would have such good talks. When Brianna is home, she tends to suck all the energy out of the room; I don’t think she does it on purpose though, it’s just her personality to talk over everyone and draw attention to herself. Mom and I would talk about anything under the sun. We bonded more in those couple months than we did probably in my whole life, mainly because it was just the two of us. As Bree and I got older, Dad would work later nights at the university and he wouldn’t be home until fairly late. I cherish those moments with everything I have.

Then, Mom and Dad got in a fight during my first year and Brianna’s second year at Harvard, and Dad’s car slid on black ice in the dark of night, and he was killed on impact. My world turned upside down. The second semester of my first year is a blur, with funeral arrangements and life insurance policies clouding my memory. Other students who had taken class with my dad would stop me in the hallway to offer their condolences. Professors would have me hang back after class and ask me how I was coping, with that annoying head tilt of supposed concern.

Then summer came, and Mom announced that she wanted to take Brianna and I to Scotland, where her and Dad had gone on their honeymoon, and show us the country. It would be a nice way to remember him by, she had told us. But when we arrived across the pond, Bree and I realized quickly that Mom had ulterior motives for being in Scotland. She told us we were going to an old friend’s house, and when we pulled into the driveway, I internally scoffed. This “house” she was talking of looked more like a castle. 

*  
*  
*

_The three of us stepped outside the car and looked up at the dwelling before us. Mom seemed lost in a trance, and Bree held her arms crossed about her chest, trying to make her displeasure at being here known. She and Mom had argued this morning, as they frequently do. Bree’s not a morning person, and a lot of the time, Mom lets Bree’s offhand comments she makes under breath go without notice, but every now and then, Mom edges her on which in turn leads to an argument._

_For fear that whoever was inside would grow suspicious of three strange women standing in their driveway staring up at their home, I strode up to the front door and knocked, Mom quick on my heels. Bree begrudgingly walked up to the steps and strayed over to the edge of the porch, out of sight from the doorway. There was a bustling noise behind the door before it flung open. A man stared back at us with the most striking green eyes you’ve ever seen. He looked between Mom and I, waiting for one of us to say something._

_“Can I help you?” He was obviously Scottish, but his accent was not overwhelming. It surprised me because we were so far up in the Highlands. The accents grow heavier the farther North you go._

_“My oh my; how much you’ve grown!” Mom exclaimed. This caught Brianna’s attention, and she whipped her head around, red hair flying over her shoulder, her wide eyes meeting mine._

_“Oh, my God, Mom! You’re so embarrassing!” Bree appeared at Mom’s side, and I saw this mysterious man shift his gaze towards her, having not been initially aware that there was a third person standing at his front door._

_Mom glanced at Brianna, then back at the man standing at the door. She smiled sheepishly._

_“My apologies.” She looked eagerly at him. He hadn’t said a word since his initial question. Mom looked at him hopefully._

_“You’re Roger, right?” Roger’s gaze finally shifted from Brianna, whom I noted he had been eyeing since she appeared before the front door, back to Mom._

_“Aye. Roger Wakefield.”_

_Mom smiled kindly at him. “I haven’t seen you since you were a boy. Goodness, you must have been only four or five years old!” She put a hand over her heart in introduction._

_“I’m Claire. Claire Randall. I’m an old friend of Reverend Wakefield’s. My husband, Frank Randall, was very close with him.” Roger nodded in recognition of the Randall name._

_“These are my daughters, Brianna and MacKenzie.” Mom grabbed both of us by the elbows and pulled us close to her. Roger’s expression had softened somewhat, but he still seemed confused as to the reason for our visit. He brushed a hand through his hair._

_“Aye, very well. Won’t you come in then? I could use a break from cleaning out the thousands of pointless items my father found it essential to keep. Fiona can make us some refreshments.” He opened the door wider to let us in. Mom nodded gratefully before walking inside, with Brianna close behind. Her arms were still crossed, but she seemed to stand up straighter as she walked past Roger. By the time I walked in the door, his eyes were still following Brianna. He closed the door behind me and followed me down the hall._

_“MacKenzie. That’s a good Scottish name.” He said next to me._

*  
*  
*

Everything happened so fast after that. Within the span of about two weeks, Mom told Brianna and I that the man who raised us, who loved us and cared for us with everything he had, was not really our father. Crazy, right? It gets better. Our real father, the man who was responsible for Brianna’s red hair and for my susceptibility to seasickness, was an 18th Century Highlander warrior who died at the Battle of Culloden in 1746. Except that he didn’t die at the Battle of Culloden. The lovely Roger Wakefield found some documents that described how a cluster of soldiers were gathered after the battle and sentenced to execution, but one soldier, a Fraser of the Lord Lovat’s Regiment, managed to escape. This led into more research, and before I knew it, Brianna took a gap year to stay in Scotland with Roger and help find out what she could about a man named James Fraser.

James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser. It took me no more than two seconds after hearing his name to put two and two together. I thought back to when I received my driver’s license and had to spell out my name to the DMV worker to make sure they spelled it right. MacKenzie Alexandra Randall. The K is capital. There’s an ‘a’ between the ‘M’ and the ‘c’. Mom had always told me that she just chose my name at random; she said there was no fancy story as to why she chose it. When I asked Dad, he said that Mom suggested the name and he liked it so that’s what they named me; end of story. Apparently not. MacKenzie is a unique name; not super common, but not unheard of either. I hated it when I was younger, because it was long and the idea of having two capital letters in my first name was hard for my 5-year-old mind to comprehend when I was learning to spell. But as I grew older, I liked it more; I’ve only met a handful of other people with the same name, and an even fewer amount of people who spelled it like I did.

I didn’t know whether my mom was indeed living in a fantasy world, but one day, after receiving a certain piece of information from Roger about the possibility of James Fraser still being alive, Mom disappeared. She was gone, without a trace. Brianna soon followed suit.

So now here I am, a senior in college, sitting in one of the most historic cities in America, and I still feel empty. Graduation was coming up. Who would be there to celebrate with me? Uncle Joe and his family would come, certainly, as would Amelia and some of my other friends. But Dad wouldn’t be there. Or Mom. Or Brianna. The feeling was second-nature to me by now. Hell, at least after Brianna left, I could still call Roger Wakefield, who was the only other person who knew about my life. But alas, he eventually left too.

Mom wanted to see if her true love – my real father – was still alive. Okay, sure, I get that. Maybe. But she never came back, which tells me one of two things. Either she found him, and they are living happily ever after in the 18th Century, or she is dead. But Brianna and Roger is what I do not understand. Why the two of them were so willing to supposedly go back to a time when there was no running water, no plumbing systems, and no concept of hygiene, I still don’t understand. But they both left, and never came back. Which means they are either living happily ever after together, or they are dead.

“Kenz! Sorry I’m late!” I was pulled out of my thoughts by the sound of Amelia’s voice as she approached the table I was sitting at near the window at the Eagle Coffee Company.  


My favorite thing about Amelia is that she always seems perpetually flustered. Her backpack was unzipped as she carried it on her back, her hair was falling out of her ponytail due to a hair tie that was much too lose, and her laptop was open in her hands as though she had been attempting to use it while walking on the sidewalk. She plopped down into the chair across from me and let out an exhausted sigh. I sipped my hot latte as I watched her strip off her large coat and try to get her wits about her. She pulled her dark hair from the lose hair tie on her head and let it drop about her shoulders. She searched throughout her backpack which she had slung across the back of her chair, and finally turned back to face me when she located the folder she was looking for. I raised my eyebrows as she finally seemed to have gotten some semblance of her surroundings. She placed her elbows on the table and rested her head in her hands.

“Have you started the project yet?” She smiled cheekily.

“No, I was waiting for you.” I sipped my latte and looked at her knowingly over the lid.

“I have a good excuse!” Amelia went straight into defense mode and went off on a tangent of why she was late. Apparently, she printed her paper for Professor Smith’s class on the wrong type of paper (don’t ask, I don’t know how a type of paper can be wrong) and then proceeded to plead with him in his office hours to let her reprint it (on the correct paper). Professor Smith is a hard ass, and of course gave her a hard time about it. Apparently, he stressed in the syllabus about only turning in papers to him on a specific type of paper. Of course, Amelia didn’t read the syllabus and therefore spent an hour and a half in his office before she finally got him to agree to let her reprint the paper. She then had to sprint across campus to the library where she realized she didn’t have enough money in her account to pay the campus printer. She eventually got some students who happened to pass by to lend her the change, where she then had to sprint back across campus to Professor Smith’s office to formally hand in her paper. He then proceeded to lecture her for 15 minutes on the importance of reading syllabus’s thoroughly. By the time she left his office, she was already 30 minutes late to our scheduled meet-up time at the Eagle Coffee Company.

“Can you imagine being so anal about life that you refuse to accept a student’s paper because it was printed on the wrong type of paper?” She looked aghast.

“No, I can’t imagine. But then again, it’s never happened to me. I always read the syllabus.” I joked.

She rolled her eyes playfully as she sipped the cappuccino that had been she ordered in the midst of her explanation of her dramatic afternoon.

“Well, we can’t all be as perfect as MacKenzie Randall.”

Having arrived at the coffee shop nearly 45 minutes before her, my latte was long gone. I toyed with the edge of the paper cup while Amelia sipped her cappuccino. I didn’t realize we were sitting in total silence until she spoke.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

I blinked up at her, startled back into reality. I didn’t answer, but Amelia smiled knowingly.

“C’mon, Kenz. We’ve been friends since preschool. You think I don’t know when you’re all up in your feels?” She tossed a chunk of her dark hair over her shoulder and put her chin in her hand on the table; she looked at me expectantly.

I looked at her for a moment before shifting my gaze to the busy Boston street outside the floor-to-ceiling window. The sun was shining, but it was quite chilly outside, as evidenced by the large coats that pedestrians were wearing. It would only get colder from here. Boston winters, while charming and picturesque, were brutal. And the roads get slippery, especially at night when it’s dark; a lesson my family had to learn the hard way.

She was silent for a moment, but I heard her sigh.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

My gaze shifted back to her; she looked hopeful. She loved it when I talked about my feelings. I figured it was because I didn’t talk about them a lot and it made her feel better when I expressed them to her because she felt a sense of responsibility over me.

“What’s there to talk about?” I said cynically and took a deep breath. “Today is Mom’s birthday, the umpteenth birthday in a row that I haven’t seen her. She could be dead for all I know. But not only that! After Mom’s birthday comes Brianna’s in November, whom I haven’t seen in two years. Then the lovely holiday season approaches and we all get to talk about what we are thankful for. I’ll sit around and wait for someone to invite me over to their house for Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner, and if no offers come, I’ll just pick up some shifts at the diner. Dad’s birthday is in December. Then January flies around the corner and the dreaded day approaches where I have to remember the look on Mom’s face when she called Bree and I downstairs to tell us that Dad was in a car accident and he didn’t make it. It’s the same story every year.”

I realized then that my voice had gotten gradually louder as I proceeded to talk, and was momentarily grateful that I had picked the table near the back of the shop where less people were located. Amelia looked at me with sad eyes. The few people who know my story always give me that same look. It’s a look that says, “Poor girl…” or “I’m sorry, honey…”  
Amelia knew my story; whether she believed it or not, I didn’t know. What she did know was that in the span of about 3 years, my entire family disappeared from my life. First Dad, tragically. She was the first person I told after Bree, Mom, and I left the hospital. She was at his funeral, as well.

Then Mom disappeared. At first, I didn’t tell her what happened. I actually kept it a secret for a while, until she finally asked me why she hadn’t seen Mom around for some time. Amelia grew up with me, so she knew the dynamics of my family. While Mom wasn’t home all the time, Amelia picked up that Mom wasn’t texting me anymore and I seemed in a daze a lot of the time. I finally told her what happened in the months leading up to Brianna’s “disappearance”.

Brianna and I were supposed to rely heavily on each other to deal with Mom’s departure, but Brianna spent the majority of her time with Roger, whether it be talking to him on the phone or having him come visit. I needed someone to talk to, and who better than your childhood best friend? I told her everything one night over wine. She probably thought I was wine drunk but, bless her heart, she nodded along enthusiastically.

“Man, Mama Claire really knows how to get around...” She had joked as she poured herself another glass of moscato.

I don’t know whether she really believed me in that moment; she could very well have just been playing the role of the supportive friend. But what I do know is that when I read Brianna’s letter notifying me that she had indeed left, Amelia had found me curled up on the couch, clutching the letter and sobbing, “She’s gone. She left me too…”

I still don’t know if she believes, but she knows that I’m alone.

She looked at me sympathetically, and I could tell she was contemplating whether to say something to cheer me up or just let the conversation gradually transition into something else. I looked 

“Do you think it’s true?” My voice was timid. Amelia and I were the only ones sitting in this part of the coffee shop, but I didn’t want to risk being overhead. I heard Amelia let out a deep sigh and I looked up at her. She seemed deep in thought.

“I believe there are things we can’t understand.” My brows lifted, encouraging her to further elaborate. She tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear and leaned forward across the table to speak more directly to me.

“It is human nature to want an explanation for things, right? We want to know exactly what it is that makes us sick and we want to know exactly how to treat it. We understand deadly diseases, like measles and smallpox, and we have created a vaccine that can prevent us from getting it; and in the case that we do get it, we can be fairly confident that modern day medical technology can nurse us back to health. So, in a situation where we don’t understand what a specific illness is or how to treat it, it makes us really nervous. But at the end of the day, we can’t possibly know everything; and that thought makes people very uncomfortable. We love facts; facts give us proof for why a certain thing operates in the way that it does. But what happens when facts fail us? When the facts contradict each other, or don’t exist at all?”

I stared at her intently, impressed that she had even thought this through, let alone thought it through this deeply. She continued.

“I don’t know if aliens exist, for example. We don’t have hard facts to back up any evidence that they do, but does that mean that they aren’t real? I don’t know. I also don’t know what happened to Amelia Earhart, and God do I wish I did.” She rolled her eyes dramatically. I chuckled and laid my chin in my hand on the table.

“People have their theories, but because we don’t have hard facts, we simply don’t know; and that bothers people. What I am getting at is there are just some things we don’t understand. People disappear all the time. Some of them are found, some of them aren’t. Who are we, mortal beings, to determine the plausibility of something simply because we don’t have the facts and evidence to back it up?” She looked at me and titled her head. I shook my head and let out a sigh.

“I am history major. I like facts. When you have the facts, then you can decide. History is the result of generations and generations of facts. I’m not saying that because I don’t have enough facts to support something means that I automatically don’t believe it, but how are we supposed to believe something with no evidence of it being real?” I felt myself getting agitated, having thought through this many times before. It didn’t help that the latte I had drunken was making me jittery.

Amelia smiled to herself and said imaginatively, “Faith, trust, and pixie dust?”

This made me let out a breathy laugh and I leaned back in the chair. I had been sitting at this table for over an hour and my smartwatch vibrated on my wrist notifying me to stand up for one minute to get my blood flowing. I began to push back from the table, excusing myself to go to the restroom, when Amelia looked up curiously.

“Maybe you do have evidence…” She was looking up at me standing next to the table, but her eyes weren’t focused on me. She was pondering.

“Sure, you don’t have any scientific evidence that the stones work. But you have your mom’s word. She told you they work, and then she disappeared. Brianna told you she was going to try and go through them, and she disappeared. And her tall-drink-of-water Scottish hunk, what was his name…Roger! He went to see if they really worked, and then he disappeared. It’s not tangible evidence, but it does make you wonder.” Her eyes finally focused on me, and she smiled. I blinked my eyes down at her, before finally excusing myself to the restroom. As I walked towards the back of the coffee shop, the thought echoed in my mind.

“It does make you wonder.”

*  
*  
*

Our home in Boston was big. Not gigantic, but big. Dad had always said that he was living in a house with three women and he needed to have a house big enough so that he could lock himself away in a big office to get work done without being distracted. There was a time when this house was cluttered with the necessities of everyday life. School textbooks opened on the kitchen counter, the hum of the washing machine, running shoes scattered around, coats hung up by the door, the sound of feet hurrying up and down the stairs.

This was my childhood home. I took my first steps here, Brianna and I took pictures on the outside steps for every first-day-of-school picture, we had birthday parties here. It made me feel warm and fuzzy on the inside to think about; Bree and I had the best upbringing any kid could ask for. We went to good schools, we had dinner as a family most nights, and we were involved in as many extracurricular activities as our hearts desired. Life was good.

The once inviting and bustling house was quiet and dark when I shut the front door behind me. I flipped on the lamp in the living room when I walked in, but the rest of the house remained dim and lonely. The big window in the living room looked out over the blue Boston evening; I could see the frost beginning to appear on the window sill. This house once made me feel safe and protected as a child. Now it served as a constant reminder of what I had once had, and what I had lost.

There were pictures of Brianna and I lining the hall that led from the living room to the kitchen. We had had them professionally done about a year before dad died, and my hand brushed lightly against them as I passed. There was a picture of Brianna, her red hair styled neatly around her face; she was glancing over her shoulder back at the camera. Her smile was caught in the middle of a laugh; a perfect candid. There was a picture of me, leaning up against a tree, smiling directly to the camera. A slight breeze was causing my hair to flow lightly around my face. A picture of Brianna, Dad, and I, posed so that Bree and I were on either side him, our heads leaning against his shoulder. His smile was subdued but genuine. A picture of Brianna, Mom and I, walking hand in hand. Mom and I were both looking at Brianna, with smiles on our faces. I remember the photographer had told us to all to look at the person who had taken the longest to get ready that morning, and Mom and I had automatically glanced up at Brianna. She was caught, once again, mid-laugh, and Mom and I had genuine smiles on our faces as well. Memories frozen in time.

The night was quiet and cold, and I soon found myself in front of the television eating a freshly delivered hot pizza. There was something so satisfying about mind-numbing reality television, but I soon found my mind drifting to my conversation with Amelia earlier in the day.

“Maybe you do have evidence…” She had said. It was not tangible evidence, but I did have something to rely on. Mom told me her truth; did I trust her? I think so. Brianna followed Mom’s truth.

“She followed it and left me here to fend for myself.” I mumbled to myself. I glanced across the living room where Dad’s old study was just visible from where I sat on the couch. I hadn’t been in there since before he died. It was almost as if I left it the way that it was, his mark would be frozen there. He had numerous books that he had published, sitting neatly on his bookshelf. Mom and Bree never read them. I had always said I was planning on it, but I never got around to it. I was scared to touch them. But then again, he was a historian and he did base his career on fact. Maybe, just maybe, he would have some information in one of those books that could help me. I know that his books spoke heavily of the military strategies and relationships among the Scottish clans during the Jacobite uprisings, but I also knew that there was some genealogical information imbedded in there as well.

I turned the television down just enough so that it wasn’t overbearing, but still loud enough to create a white background noise. I flipped the blanket off my lap and padded my way slowly over to his old office. Once there, my hand rested on the doorknob for a minute before I pulled it towards me and opened the door. A brush of air hit me as I stepped inside and I had to close my eyes and take a deep breath before moving further. I could almost feel his presence in there with me.

“Hi Daddy…” I whispered to the open air and opened my eyes. He still had files placed on his desk. His chair was pushed back from the desk, as though he had only been sitting in it earlier today. A picture of Brianna, Mom, and I hung on the wall behind the desk, next to his diplomas and certificates. I felt like I was intruding, but willed myself to walk over to the bookshelf along the wall and peruse.

There were books by numerous authors lining the shelves, but the books he had published were placed neatly on the top shelf. I stood on my tip toes and read over the titles carefully.

_“Genealogy of the Scottish Clans”_

Eh.

_“Jacobite Alliances According to the Scottish Clans”_

Probably not.

_“Bonnie Prince Charlie and the Battle of Culloden”_

Maybe.

_“Defeat at Culloden: the Fate of the Jacobite Soldiers”_

This one peaked my interest. I thumbed at the sole of the book and grabbed it down from the shelf. I turned back around and looked at Dad’s desk and decided promptly to take the book with me and read it elsewhere. I could hear my Dad’s voice scolding me in the back of my mind, “You’re not supposed to be in here, Kenzie; Daddy has important research to do.” I smiled at the memory and shut the door behind me.

The television was still playing in the background when I sat down on the couch, the book placed in my lap. I brushed my fingers slightly across the name at the bottom of the cover, _Franklin Wolverton Randall, Ph.D._ The sound of the television began to drown out as I opened the book, and I could only faintly hear the rain pattering against the window as I opened the cover. 

"Ok, dad. I’m listening.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MacKenzie does her own research and finds information that further motivates her to make the journey to the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Journey to the Past" from Anastasia: the Musical.

A couple hours had passed and the book in my lap made a heavy thud sound as I closed it shut. The cushions on the back of the couch hugged my body as I leaned back into them, my hands coming up to rub my eyes. As a history major, I knew how to read historical documents; but damn, my brain was throbbing from the hours of strain I had just subjected my eyes to. The clock on the cable box under the television read 2:03am. 

My feet tingled as I stretched them out from the curled-up position I had been sitting in and my knees cracked as I stood up and put pressure on them. Rain was still pattering on the window sill and I pulled my cardigan closer around my shoulders. The house was cold, despite the heat being on. I could really use a hug right now. 

The information in Dad’s book was nothing I hadn’t heard before. It opened with a large background of who the Jacobite’s were, why they were fighting, and what became of them. Queen Elizabeth I died without an heir, and so they chose King James of Scotland because he was Protestant. Everything was happy and dandy for a while, but then came James II of England, grandson of the Scottish King. He was a Catholic and Parliament staged a coup to get rid of him. They were successful and the banished King James lived out the rest of his life in exile. He made an unsuccessful claim to the throne in 1715, but after that, the claim to the Stuart throne rested upon that of his son, Prince Charles Stuart. The Jacobite’s were Scottish soldiers who supported the Bonnie Prince’s effort to reclaim the throne of England. They were brave and they fought till the very end for their cause. They met their fate on the battlefield at Culloden, where the English Army slaughtered each and every one of them. It was a bloody battle; the Scots never stood a chance. Of course, though, there were some survivors, and that’s where Mom picked up the story a couple years ago, in Roger Wakefield’s living room in Inverness, Scotland. 

My mind had scrambled to remember the bits and pieces of evidence that Roger had found about James Fraser. He had found a document from an English soldier who was in charge of taking down the names of a small group of Jacobite’s who had taken refuge in a barn near the battlefield. They were sentenced to execution, but the document described one soldier, a Fraser of the Lord Lovat’s Regiment, who had managed to escape. 

Roger had found this exact document, after months and months of research. The fact that if we had only opened one of Dad’s books, we would have found this information quicker, made me snicker out loud in the quiet house. It was under our noses the whole time. 

Mom was convinced that Jamie Fraser had died at the Battle of Culloden, and she never thought otherwise. As my eyes scanned over the document in Dad’s book, the thought struck me that Dad must have known this information; he had placed it in his book, after all. Of course, the document doesn’t name who the Fraser of the Lord Lovat’s Regiment was who managed to escape execution, but this document had given Mom hope only a couple years ago when Roger found it; it wasn’t just a coincidence.

I don’t know how much Dad believed of Mom’s story. He obviously knew that Brianna and I were not biologically his, but I don’t know if he believed that our real father was an 18th Century Highlander. Bree and I did not find out about our paternity until after Dad passed away, so I never got to ask him about it. I wonder what he believed; this book was published when I was about five years old. How much of this book’s research was motivated by his own interest into finding out the credibility of Mom’s story? What I would do to ask him…

I could sit here and contemplate what Dad did and didn’t know for hours, but he obviously had information in this book about the fate of the surviving Jacobite soldiers; after all, I already did know that Jamie Fraser survived Culloden. So, I kept reading.

Most Jacobite soldiers who survived were executed, like the mysterious Fraser of the Lord Lovat’s Regiment was supposed to be. Those who were not executed, for one reason or another, were sent to numerous prison’s around Scotland. I knew this, for Roger and Mom had made it this far in their research. Prisoners who further survived their time in jail were sent to the American colonies, once they were given parole, as indentured servants. At this point, my eyes began to glaze over the pages, as the night grew darker and the words on the pages began to run into each other. I decided to flip a couple chapters ahead, where I found Dad had printed numerous historical documents about men he suspected had been previous Jacobite soldiers, but were found many years later in history. 

Here, my eyes laid upon the exact newspaper clipping Roger had found and showed to Mom. At the bottom of the clipping, the name A. Malcom, Printer was written in cursive script. I let out an audible gasp at this discovery. What had taken Mom, Brianna, Roger, and I close to six months to research in Scotland, had been sitting on a bookshelf in our home in Boston for years. 

“Professor Randall, how much do you know that you are not telling us?” I said aloud to the empty house, shaking my head in disbelief. 

This information was great and gave me a feeling of nostalgia as I remembered those weird few months in Scotland. However, it didn’t tell my anything I didn’t already know. James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser survived the Battle of Culloden and somehow ended up under a fake name in Edinburgh some twenty years later as a printer. What I needed to know, further, was whether it was somehow possible that Mom made it back to him. I would have to find out more information about James Fraser, through my own research.

My eyes were heavy and my feet barely picked up off the ground as I walked into the kitchen. The light of the refrigerator was bright when I opened it, and my eyes squinted in alarm. I was so tired, but my mind was racing; I had to see if I could find more information about James Fraser. Or Alexander Malcolm. Whoever he was at a specific moment in time, I needed to know. For fear that I would wake up in the morning having lost the motivation to research, I sat at the island counter in the middle of the kitchen, with my freshly poured cold glass of water and opened my laptop. 

Through Harvard’s student portal, I had access via the student library to extensive historical databases. My eyes had slightly adjusted to the bright computer screen, but it still felt too bright, so I thumbed at the dim key to lower the brightness. I scrolled through the database before clicking on one link that led me to a portal. The heading of the website read, “All primary sources you could imagine, right at your fingertips.”

“That seems daunting.” I mumbled to myself as I typed in the portal’s search engine. My mind stalled as I thought of what to search. _Start anywhere, it doesn’t matter where._ My fingers typed in the search engine, _James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser._ 3,000 results. Damn. I scrolled through the webpage, briefly scanning the documents that came up. Most of them were documents that had nothing to do with James himself; rather, a prison record that briefly mentioned his name or a warrant out for his arrest. My fingers clicked on the search portal again and I typed, _Alexander Malcolm, Edinburgh._ 59 results. Better. Most of the documents that came up were newspaper clippings like the one Roger (and apparently, Dad) had found from the print shop. Nothing much of substance to help with what I was looking for. Then a thought struck me and I typed in _James and Claire Malcolm_ in the search portal. 12 results. Now we seem to be getting somewhere. There was an excerpt from a woman’s diary in Edinburgh who listed a Claire Malcolm as coming to help a woman who was suffering from some sort of mental episode. The owner of the diary was a maid, and she wrote that _“Mrs. Malcolm came to inspect Maggie Campbell. She performed some type of physical examination, but could not find anything physically wrong. She left with some suggestions of herbal teas.”_ Interesting. It could have been anyone, but I still felt a shiver run down my spine. It was the right location, the right time-period, the right description. How many women at that time would have been qualified to inspect a sick woman? I clicked out of the document and continued to peruse the other options. 

I clicked on another document, which seemed to be the diary of a ship captain. He was an Englishman who went by the name Leonard. The diary excerpt was from a voyage across the Atlantic Ocean to Jamaica; apparently, the ship was transporting the new Governor of Jamaica to the island, when an illness rampaged throughout the ship. My stomach seemed unsettled just at the thought of an 18th Century voyage across the Atlantic Ocean. I shook the thought from my head, grateful for the dry ground underneath my feet, and scrolled throughout the diary excerpt. This Captain Leonard was very young, having taken command of the ship after the captain and first and second engineers had fallen victim to the mysterious illness. Captain Leonard documented an encounter with another ship, the _Artemis_ , in which they requested the help of this other ship’s surgeon. The surgeon, Captain Leonard documented, was C. Malcolm. My breath caught in my throat. The captain didn’t elaborate any further on who this surgeon was, besides noting that there was a possible fugitive aboard the _Artemis_ who they would have to take into custody when they returned C. Malcolm.

I let out a deep breath and attempted to steady my fingers. I was alone, with no one else to hear me, but I had the odd feeling that I was doing something I wasn’t supposed to. I don’t have any evidence that this C. Malcolm is who I wanted it to be, but I felt I was solving a puzzle and I was getting closer and closer to the end. 

I scrolled back up to the search engine and typed, _James and Claire Fraser, colonies._ There were a couple different documents that contained the name James Fraser who I was pretty sure was a different person, but my eyes rested on one document, and I hesitantly clicked on the link. It was a deed, like a contract, from the Royal Governor of the Colony of North Carolina. The deed was transferring a large piece of land, some 10,000 acres, over to a James and Claire Fraser. The deed instructed James to settle the area of land with Scottish immigrants who would remain loyal to the Crown. I blinked my eyes as if to rid them of any errors that my eyes might be reading. I scrolled slightly to see the bottom of the document, and there were two signatures.

One signature was very slanted, but I could easily make out the name. 

_James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser_

The second signature was neat and precise. I could recognize that handwriting anywhere.

_Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp Fraser, Mrs. James Fraser._

My finger brushed the screen of the computer where the second signature was. I didn’t expect to find this information, this quickly. Whether I would ever see her again, I did not know. But what I did know was that she had survived the passage through the stones and she had found James. And somehow, they had ended up in the American colonies, and they had signed this deed as husband and wife, and supposedly settled the land. The title of the deed read “Fraser’s Ridge.” My voice came out just above a whisper.

“Hi, Mama. I found you…”

*  
*  
*

“Hi, I know this seems random and out-of-the-blue, but I had some questions I was hoping I could discuss with you…” My voice lifted slightly at the end of the sentence, signifying a question. I had barely slept the night before; I think I drifted off to some semblance of sleep around 5:00am, only to be woken up sharply at 8:30am with an urgency to complete my research from the night before. 

“Sure, of course! Just give me one minute so I can walk out to the deck where it’s quieter” Fiona Graham’s voice was chipper on the other line, and I could hear her closing a door behind her through the phone. 

As I laid in bed last night pleading with my brain to shut off so I could get a couple hours of sleep, I couldn’t help but think about stone circles. How did they work? How do you know you’re going to end up in the time you intend to? How do you get back? Is the only stone circle at Craigh Na Dun in Scotland? There was only one person I knew of who could possibly have the answer to these questions.

“Ok, shoot!” Fiona’s voice said across the line. 

I told her everything. From Brianna’s departure to Roger’s, all the emotions I went through in the time after, my desire to see for myself, my hesitations, my curiosities. I must have talked straight for 30 minutes, barely stopping to catch my breath between sentences. When I finally did stop, the line remained silent and I wondered briefly if she had hung up sometime during my rambling. When Fiona did respond, her voice was soft and considerate. 

“I remember you calling Roger after Brianna left. You were so upset, and I remember being surprised that she hadn’t told you.” 

“Yeah. It was definitely a surprise to me too.” I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head to rid the memories of that night. 

*  
*  
*

 _“I swear to God, Roger Wakefield, if you don’t pick up this very instant…” My heart was pounding and my chest was rising and falling violently with every breath I took. Tears pricked at my eyes, but I blinked them away. The phone rung once, twice, three times…_

_“Hello?” His accent was heavy when he answered. He must be in Scotland, then. Bree said that his accent always got stronger when he was in Scotland._

_“Did you know?” I spit the question out in anger without introducing myself. He would know who it was. There was a pause on the other line._

_“Er… Did I know what?” He sounded genuinely confused, and it just made me angrier. How dare he play dumb to me right now._

_“I swear to God, Roger, don’t mess with me!”_

_“MacKenzie, I really don’t know what you’re talking about. What’s wrong?”_

_I inhaled deeply. The nerve that he had to actually act like he didn’t know what I was talking about. Brianna had been in Scotland the past two weeks to visit him, and today I get a letter in the mail from her, saying she was sorry and she would be back. I knew what it meant, and I knew that Roger Wakefield probably helped her do it. My voice was low and raspy when I spoke again._

_“Brianna.” There was another pause on the line._

_“What about Brianna? Is she okay? I haven’t spoken to her in a couple days, she said she needed time to think.”_

_I felt the air leave my lungs. My chest tightened and I felt lightheaded. I laid a hand on the kitchen island to help keep my balance._

_“What do you mean?” My voice cracked with emotion._

_“MacKenzie, what do you mean!?”_

_I picked up the card and looked at it when I spoke again. The tears were gathering in my eyes again, but this time I couldn’t blink them away. They were blurring my vision._

_“I…I got a letter from her in the mail today. She…” I had to compose myself before I spoke again, my words becoming inaudible through the emotion in my voice._

_“Roger, I think she went through the stones to find Mom…” I threw the card back on the counter. All noise on the other line went dead. When he had answered the phone, I could tell he was moving things around on his desk by the sound of papers shuffling and textbooks plopping on the floor. Now, it was silent._

_“Oh, my God….” He said in disbelief._

_“You…you mean you didn’t know?”_

_“I mean, she had mentioned it to me a couple times, but she never said she was going to go through with it!” He sounded aghast on the other line. “Are you telling me she didn’t even tell you?”_

_I felt my knees give out under me and I slowly slid to a fetal position on the kitchen floor. As I leaned up against the lower cabinets, I felt the tears stream down my face. I was only vaguely aware of my cellphone still being held up to my ear._

_“No…I…she left me…She left me all alone….I have no one….I’m all alone…” The words came out in a sob and I felt the emotion overtake me. My head hurt and the room was spinning. Roger stayed on the line, though he didn’t say anything. He stayed on the line to let me cry._

*  
*  
*

“I’ve thought about it since then, and I don’t want to try and excuse her actions, but I think she probably didn’t tell you because she was scared that if she did, you would try and stop her.” 

“Yeah, well, still. She left without so much as a goodbye.” 

“I understand.”

It was nice to talk to Fiona, but I didn’t want to dwell on my emotions of the past. I had more important questions to ask her.

“I remember Brianna mentioning that you have a lot of knowledge on the stones, and how they might work…” 

“Aye, well I like to think so myself.” I could hear her smile on the other line. She listened to all my questions and did her best to answer them.

There were, apparently, stone circles scattered sporadically around the world, and there were even some here in Boston. The thought scared me a little, but also gave me hope. I didn’t need to travel all the way to Scotland and then figure out a way to make it back to America once I got where I was going. As Fiona explained, my mind began to drift to how I would find my parents. If I went through the stones in Boston, I could probably find my way down South to North Carolina to find Fraser’s Ridge. They didn’t have roads back then, obviously, but they must have some type of system in which they travel to and from the colonial cities. I could ask around, maybe hitch a wagon ride with someone, and then find my way to Fraser’s Ridge. Easy….right?

“…now in terms of how to go to the exact place you want to go” Fiona continued, “I really think you just have to set your mind to it. It sounds silly, I know. But I think that there is a force that pulls you in and places you were you need to be. From what you’ve explained to me, I think you have a pretty good idea of what you are setting out for…” I could hear her smile on the other line. 

I let out a sigh. Part of me hoped that she would describe some convoluted way to get through the stones and I would chicken out. But from what she’s described, it seems actually rather easy. Up until this point, I hadn’t exactly vocalized the reason for my call. I hadn’t actually said aloud what was going through my mind. When Fiona’s voice came through on the line, though, she answered the question I hadn’t worked up the courage to ask. 

“I think you should go, MacKenzie. I think it would do everyone some good. I think it would give you the opportunity to see Brianna and smack her silly.” She giggled on the other line and I smiled too.

“Also, you could see your Mom again which, from what I’ve picked up through what you’ve said, would be really good for you. You could meet Jamie Fraser. Also, you could say hi to Roger for me…”

*  
*  
*

> _Heart, don’t fail me now.  
>  Courage, don’t desert me.  
>  Don’t turn back now that we’re here _

The stones stood strong and sturdy on top of the hill. Massachusetts is one of the most densely populated regions in the United States, but here at the top of this hill, the only company I had was the air I breathed, the trees surrounding me, and the faint buzzing noise in my ears. The stones were located some three miles from the main road, and I looked behind me to make sure I was truly alone. I was. 

Amelia had dropped me off at the small picnic area at the base of the hill, near the sign that pointed in the direction of the circle of standing stones. The car ride had been silent, neither of us daring to say anything. I didn’t want her to ask me anything for fear that I would chicken out and refuse to get out of the car once we arrived at the base of the hill; I didn’t want to say anything either for the same reason. No, I had made this decision; I was going to find my family and nothing was going to stop me. 

> _People always say, “Life is full of choices”,  
>  No one ever mentions fear.  
>  Or how the world can seem so vast  
>  On a journey to the past_

The car slowed to a stop and Amelia put the car in park. Neither of us said anything. I was scared. I was terrified. What the hell am I doing? Somehow, my mind has come up with the perfect scenario of me traveling through the stones and ending up in the exact right time period that I needed to be in to find my family. What if it didn’t work? What if Mom and Bree concocted up this crazy story and it didn’t really exist? Or worse. What if it did? What if I ended up on the other side of the stones, actually in the 18th century? What would I do then? I guess I would have to figure it out when I got there. 

My chin quivered and I took in a deep breath. My eyes closed as I let it out and I felt Amelia’s gaze shift towards me. I didn’t look back at her, but I wiped my nose on the legwarmers that I had turned into arm warmers. The sun was rising higher in the sky and I had to leave now or I would risk having to share the beautiful Saturday morning with other people who had decided to take in the brisk Massachusetts weather.

“I’m gonna hang around for a while, in case you come barreling down the hill screaming and crying.”

I looked up at Amelia with watery eyes and a faint smile. She was on the verge of crying, but always kept her sense of humor. Without any further comment, I reached across the center console of the car and wrapped her in my arms. She squeezed tight back, and the only sound in the car was of us sniffling. At last, we loosened our grip on each other and as we pulled away, she gave me an encouraging smile.

“Tell Brianna I said ‘hi’. And tell Mama Claire that I miss her.” I nodded as a tear fell down my cheek. I stared down at my hands in my lap and took a deep breath. Now or never. Get out of the damn car. 

> _Somewhere down this road, I know someone’s waiting  
>  Years of dreams just can’t be wrong  
>  Arms will open wide, I’ll be safe and wanted  
>  Finally home where I belong_

I strayed from the main path as I walked up to the stones, as I didn’t want to risk being seen in my makeshift 18th century attire. The walk to the stones was long, giving me too much time to think. My mind began to drift as I imagined what it would be like to see my mom again. Would she cry when she saw me? Would she even recognize me? Of course she would. Right? How would I react when I saw Brianna? I had some choice words to say to her, but I also felt giddy at the idea of seeing her face again and running into her arms. James Fraser. What would I say to him? ‘Hello, I am your daughter!’? I wonder what Brianna said to him when she first met him. Does he even know who I am? It had been almost three years since I last hugged my father, Frank Randall. The thought of a father’s hug, getting to experience that feeling again, made my eyes water. 

> _Well, starting now I’m learning fast  
>  On this journey to the past_

The Massachusetts air was cold and brisk, but by the time I reached the stones, I was sweating; from fear of what I was about to do or from the three-mile hike up the hill, I didn’t know. The stones loomed large and intimidating in front of me. I had done my research. I remember what Mom had said about how the stones work. Surely, it must not be as simple as just walking through the stones? But that’s what she said. Walk forward, place both hands on the middle stone, and take a deep breath. Life is about to come at you fast. 

_“If you have any second thoughts, Randall, act on them now.”_ I said aloud to myself. This could very well not work. They also very well could work. What if I end up in the wrong time? How will I know where to go once I arrive? What if they don’t even want me there? How will I get back? Is this the right decision for me?

> _Home. Love. Family.  
>  There was once a time I must have had them too  
>  Home. Love. Family.  
>  I will never be complete until I find you_

I have a mother and a father. I have a sister. I have a family. These past couple years have been the most trying of my life. I have cried. I have screamed. I have wondered. I have researched. I have been alone and a part of me will never forgive my mother and sister for both leaving me. But at the same time, there is a way for me to see them again. There is a way for me attempt to fix the hole in my heart; the hole that has been there for years now. I have felt alone without a home, without a purpose. But there is something I can do about it. Mom did it. Brianna did it. What is stopping me from doing it? 

> _One step at a time  
>  One hope, then another  
>  Who know where this road may go?_

I willed my feet to move towards the stones. My hands were curled up into fists at my sides, with clumps of the side of my dress bunched up in them. The wind began to pick up and the buzzing in my ears got louder. I was scared, but I also felt the gravitational pull towards the stones. I felt a sudden burst of excitement mixed with horror as the stones became within feet of my reach. I felt like I was no longer in control of my body. I was moving closer to the stones, but my body was moving without my telling it to. 

> _Back to who I was  
>  On to find my future  
>  Things my heart still needs to know_

Whatever happens, happens. They could be thrilled to see you, or they could not. This whole thing could be a farce, or it could be real. The only way to find out is to just do it. Either way, I have questions and they deserve to be answered. Look out, world. Here comes MacKenzie Randall. 

> _Yes, let this be a sign!  
>  Let this road be mine!  
>  Let it bring me to my past!_

I was unaware of my surroundings. I looked at my two hands placed upon the center stone, and then looked up to sky. The leaves were blowing vigorously around me and my hair was nearly blinding my vision. I felt the ground move beneath my feat, but I was still standing. The ringing in my ears was overwhelming. Whatever was happening, I couldn’t pull myself out of it.

> _And bring me home  
>  At last!_

Someone had knocked me on the back of the head, I was sure. Suddenly, I felt I was propelled forward and all sense was lost. And then there was darkness. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life comes at you fast, MacKenzie.

I was dead; I was sure of it. But I couldn’t be, because my senses were the first thing that began to return. My legs felt paralyzed and my head pounded something fierce, but I was vaguely aware of the smell around me. My eyes were still closed, my eyelids refusing to open, but I could smell the faintest scent of nature. 

Just then, my fingers picked up the sensation of grass. I consciously tried to move them, and felt them shift on demand. I wasn’t dead; my brain was obviously communicating with my body. I willed my eyes to open and instantly shut them again as the bright glare from the sun seemed to blind me. Well, at least I know they open. The sensations of my body began to gradually come back, and I soon felt my hands lift off their place laying on the grass. I slowly pushed myself up on my elbows and opened my eyes once more. The sun still glared aggressively into my sensitive corneas, but when I finally opened them again, the sight before me seemed not all that different from what I remembered before everything went dark. I craned my neck to look behind me at the stones; they were still there but I noticed I was on the other side from where I had entered. 

At that moment, I swung my head back around and hesitantly stretched my legs. The muscles ached and I winced as I put pressure on them to stand. My head spun as I stood up and I squeezed my eyes shut to let the dizzy episode pass. 

“Geez, Mom, you’ve done that three times?” I mumbled aloud to myself. Then, as if I finally thought clear enough to understand my surroundings, the thought hit me like a ton of bricks. I stood up straight and glared incredulously at the stone circle behind me, and then at the grassy hill in front of me. 

“No way…” I quickly ran past the stones and back down towards the main road, to see if it was even there. My muscles protested at my quick movements, and my head was still spinning. My mind was racing, and I barely had time to register the large tree root that was poking up through the ground before my foot got stuck in it and I went tumbling down the rest of the hill. When I finally stopped rolling, I pushed myself up onto my elbows and caught my breath. I fully expected some passing onlookers to stop and ask if I was okay, and I would have to deal with the embarrassment of the fall. I waited, but no one came.

I looked around briefly and noticed that I was alone. Not only that, there was no road in sight. In fact, there was nothing in sight expect trees as far as the eye could see. I stood on my feet and began to walk again when I felt a sheering pain shoot up my right leg. I shifted my weight to my other foot and crouched down to grasp the lower extremity. When I pulled up the bottom of the skirt and looked at the ankle, there was already a deep purple bruise forming around the nub. 

“Great job, Kenz…” I thought to myself. 

*  
*  
*

I limped my way further down the hill, reprimanding myself for being stupid enough to hurt myself less than ten minutes into my journey. But I had a mission to complete, and as I became more and more convinced that I had indeed completed my journey to the 18th Century, I felt more alone than ever. I had to find Fraser’s Ridge. 

There were no roads, but I found what seemed to be a trail and I decided that it would be better to follow that than let my mind needlessly wander. I walked for what seemed like ages, my ankle screaming in pain every step of the way, when my ears picked up the faintest sound of voices. I quickened my pace, feeling a slight sense of panic rise in my chest, when I came upon a small village. I took in the sight of the women and children I saw running around, and my breath caught in my throat.

“Did this really work?” I said to myself. I could smell the presence of horses, hear the patter of wagons, and see the bonnets and corsets that the females wore. If I didn’t know any better, I would think I was in the 18th Century. 

I timidly made my way into the town, suddenly conscious of my hair falling loosely around my shoulders. All the women I saw wore head coverings, and I felt exposed. I only caught a few curious glances as I passed through town, though, before I saw a cluster of people surrounding a number of coaches. 18th century version of a train station, maybe? I walked over to where the crowd was gathered and pushed my way through to the ticket counter; the ticket counter was a wooden stand with a round old woman standing behind this. 

“Is one of these coaches possibly heading in the direction of North Carolina?” My voice was hoarse from disuse. I could really use a glass of water. 

The woman behind the stand smiled kindly at me.

“Why, yes, little lady. Coach number four right over there is heading to Wilmington.”

I handed her a handful of colonial money that I had managed to obtain back home in Boston (in the 21st Century) and gratefully accepted the ticket. The coach was small and crowded, but I didn’t care. I leaned back against the seat and rejoiced in the weight being finally off my ankle. I looked out the window of the coach and let out a sigh of relief. I was going home. 

*  
*  
*

The tavern smelled bad; that was the first thing I noticed as I walked in. It was crowded and I quickly realized that I was the only woman in here. This, I noticed, was a trend. A bell above the door jingled as I walked in and countless faces looked up at me. It made me uncomfortable and I felt vulnerable and exposed, but I shook the feelings from my mind. I had been travelling non-stop for two weeks, breaking only here and there in random small villages for food and water. The peanut butter and jelly sandwiches I had packed for the journey were gone by the second day, and I was forced to resort to small snacks here and there. From the research I had done, I knew Fraser’s Ridge was deep in the back country of North Carolina. I also was fully aware that Wilmington was quite on the opposite side of the state (or…colony) and I would have to figure out some way to get there. To give it credit, though, Wilmington was a bustling port city and it had, by far, the best accommodations of any of the towns or villages we had stopped in. 

My ankle was heavily swollen from the fall I had taken a couple weeks ago. I had initially been thankful for the long ride in the coach, for it allowed me time to take the weight off it. However, I quickly realized that it was a curse as well because I would go hours on end without putting weight on it. This immobility did nothing to help heal the wound, and it seemed the blood kept pooling more and more each day at the bottom of my foot. I hadn’t slept laying down since first arriving here in the colonies; the coach only stopped for necessities. My body ached like never before. Further, lack of adequate nutrition left me with a perpetual headache. But I was closer than I was two weeks ago. 

I was here for one thing and one thing only; I needed to ask around and see if anyone could point me in the direction of Fraser’s Ridge. Hell, someone could simply tell me that I was in the correct vicinity of the Ridge, and I would have been happy. There were no roads and no road signs, and despite my good sense of direction, I couldn’t just wander the colony and hope for the best. I made my way to the back of the tavern where the bar was located, my ankle fully on fire, and made a distinguished effort not to react to the rude stares as I passed the occupants of the tavern. Men pressed up against each other to allow me to move through, and it wasn’t until I reached the bar that I realized I had been holding my breath. The bartender stared back at me, obviously curious about my reason for being here alone but also of whether he was going to get a sale out of me. I felt for the pouch that I had slung around my waist and heard the jingle of coins. I internally released a sigh of relief and ordered a drink.

As the bartender took my money and slid a weird-looking beverage in my direction, I took the opportunity to ask my burning questions.

“Excuse me, kind sir. If it would not be too much of a bother, would you be so kind as to educate me on the whereabouts of Fraser’s Ridge?” 

I smiled the sweetest smile I could muster. My body hurt and I was so uncomfortably aware of the eyes blazing into my back. Apparently, women don’t go to taverns alone in 18th Century America. The bartender seemed to think briefly, before nodding and pointing a finger in the supposed direction of Fraser’s Ridge. 

“Why, yes, ma’am. Fraser’s Ridge is about three days up the road, give or take. Up in the mountains. But I have to advise you not to go alone. There’s no clear path up there and I would not want a lady such as yourself getting injured or possibly lost.”

He raised an eyebrow at me to show his concern. I kept the smile plastered on my face. Well, at least I’m in the right area. But the direction he pointed his finger in did not help at all to help me understand the direction of the Ridge. Three days, give or take, in which direction? There’s four possible directions, countless possible miles I could needlessly travel. The bartender was right, how did I know where the hell I was going? And apparently the Ridge was not easy to get to. 

I could have sworn the bartender said my name, which pulled me out of my trance. I looked at him curiously because I didn’t remember introducing myself. Oh well, at least I know I’m in the right area. I need to rest my feet and get my wits about me before conjuring up a plan on how exactly I would get to the Ridge. I smiled kindly at the bartender in thanks, and decided that I would be most comfortable outside the tavern, with fresh air. Also, outside, I could possibly find a person who could better describe to me the exact location of Fraser’s Ridge. I took a deep gulp of whatever drink I had ordered and desperately fought the urge to make a disgusted face. It tasted terrible. I shook my head slightly as the drink slid down my throat. My idea of a nice, refreshing drink is a rum and coke, not whatever disgusting beer-like substance this was. I smiled kindly to the bartender once more and turned around to find better luck outside the tavern.

Apparently, I turned around too quickly, for as soon as my eyes adjusted to the sudden change of direction, I was startled to find myself face to face with a large man; or should I say, face to chest. The man’s hands reached out to my arms to steady me, as I had briefly lost my balance. 

“Oh, pardon me, sir! I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there!” My voice sounded cheerful, but I wanted to scowl up at the man for standing so close to me. He didn’t remove his hands from their place on my arms, and I felt a slight surge of panic. I looked up at his face in question.

“MacKenzie? Is that you?”

I furrowed my brows at him. I don’t know whether it was the fact that I was in the 18th century or that fact that I hadn’t eaten adequate food for close to two weeks, but whatever it was, I didn’t recognize him at first. He stared down at me, his green eyes curious but hopeful. I stared helplessly up at him, confused at why he knew my name and confused at why he didn’t seem to want to let me go. Then it hit me like a ton of bricks. Those eyes. Those damn green eyes. I had last seen them in Scotland, in the 21st Century, staring back at me from across the table in his kitchen, my sister sitting next to him as well. My mouth dropped open and I felt the breath leave my lungs.

“Oh...Oh my God!” My mouth still hung open, but I felt my face break out into a smile. “Roger! Roger Wakefield! I can’t believe it!”

When the recognition was realized, his face broke into a shocked smile as well. Lacking any control, I flung my arms around his neck and felt his arms wrap around my back in response. We held each other tight, ignoring the stares of the crowded tavern. I opened my eyes briefly while still hugging him, and I noticed a young man, about my age, standing back near the entrance, obviously a friend of Roger’s, staring back at us curiously. His hair was shaved on the sides, giving him a mohawk down the middle, and he had dots aligning his face. I would have pondered longer what the dots were, but Roger released his arms from around my back and pulled back to stare down at me again. I noticed his throat had markings on it, and noted that his voice had sounded different when he mentioned my name only a few minutes ago. So many thoughts were running through my head, but the overwhelming thought was the fact that Roger Wakefield was standing in front of me! I placed my hands on his cheeks, and noted the clean-cut beard he had now. His hair was tied back at the base of his neck in a ponytail; he didn’t have that in the 21st century. I looked at him incredulously. 

“There’s no way this is real life right now!” I shook my head in astonishment and wrapped him in a hug once more. He squeezed back and then pulled himself away again.

“I thought it was you! I saw you walk in the tavern and I had to do a double-take because I could have sworn it was you. I thought, ‘There’s no way’ but I had to follow you in here and investigate. Then I heard you talking to the bartender and when I called your name, you didn’t know it was me, but you reacted when you heard it. My God, MacKenzie, what are you doing here?!” His voice was definitely different; there was a significant rasp to it. He looked down at me expectantly, and I thought of how to tell him and where to start. My mind raced over and all I could muster up was,

“I’m here!” My eyes were watery with happiness. The pure shock of seeing a face I recognized was enough to have made me feel weak in the knees. I would have to explain everything later, for there was one thought penetrating my mind more than anything else. I looked up at him with wide eyes and I felt my hands fold into a praying position in front of me.

“Roger. Please. I’m begging you. Is there any way you know where my Mom is? Or where Bree is? I’ve been searching for Fraser’s Ridge this whole time, thinking one of them might be there, but I could be wrong, do you know where they are?!” The words came pouring out of my mouth.

He smiled down at me knowingly. “Aye, I know where they are.” This sentence alone caused my hand to slap across my mouth. I did it. I found them. 

“They are both at Fraser’s Ridge. Come on, Ian and I were just getting ready to head back up that way.” He motioned back to the man standing at the door when he mentioned Ian’s name. Ian smiled kindly at me and bowed his head in my direction. He pressed back against the door to get it to open and I followed Roger outside. As we stepped outside of the tavern, I breathed in the fresh air and felt a weight lift off my shoulders. I was hungry. I was tired. I was slightly disoriented. I was scared. My feet hurt due to blisters that had formed on every inch of my feet from my countless days of walking. But all that didn’t matter now, because in just a few short days, I would be reunited with my Mom. With Brianna. With the mysterious James Fraser, whom I truly felt my mind wouldn’t believe was real until I saw him. 

“I can see the resemblance” Ian had said when Roger explained how he knew who I was. “Why have I never met you before?” Roger looked down at me expectantly after Ian’s question. I looked up at him slightly lost, but he seemed intrigued to hear whatever story I had come up with for my whereabouts. 

“Oh, I’ve been up in Boston.” Well, it was the truth. Ian’s gaze lingered on me obviously waiting for me to elaborate further, but he was soon distracted as he dodged out of the way of a wagon coming his direction. I was glad for the distraction; I hadn’t thought super hard about what my story was. I hoped I wouldn’t be asked again until I had figured it out. Roger knew where I had been, as did Brianna and Mom, and I’m assuming Jamie knew as well. But I didn’t know how many other people did and I wasn’t about to subject myself to trying to explain time- travel to an 18th century person. Tolerance and acceptance weren’t common traits during this time, keep in mind.

The town square outside the tavern was bustling with people, and I held onto the crook of Roger’s arm so I wouldn’t get lost. I hoped we wouldn’t be walking all the way to Fraser’s Ridge, for my ankle was starting to ache again. My thoughts were answered as we rounded a corner and stopped in front of two horses that had been tied up to a pair of trees. Ian began adjusting the saddle and stirrups on one of the horses, and Roger did the same to the other. I stayed out of the way to let the men prepare the horses adequately, and within a couple minutes, Roger patted the saddle to confirm it was sturdy on the horse and looked expectantly at me.

“Give me your foot. I’ll help you up.” He clasped his hands together and crouched his tall frame slightly down to allow me better access. Against my better judgement, I placed my injured ankle in his hand and swung my other leg around the horse as he hoisted me up. The pressure on my ankle intensified and I closed my eyes and pursed my lips together once I was settled atop the horse. 

“You okay?” I looked down at Roger who looked up at me in concern. I had tried to make my exclamation of pain unnoticeable, but I hadn’t done a great job.

“Yeah, just a little sore.” I smirked down at him and adjusted myself on the saddle.

Before I knew it, Roger had mounted behind me on the horse himself and I felt his arms come around me to grab the reigns. He arms were strong and sturdy and I smiled to myself in remembrance of the slightly scrawny, sweater-vest-wearing Oxford professor I had met years before. I guess life in the 18th century will bulk a guy up.

He made a clicking sound with his teeth from behind me and the horse started clonking his way up the hill, away from the town square. Ian was a couple feet in front of us, instructing his horse to lead the way. The air around us grew quieter as we pulled farther away from the town and soon, the only noise I could hear was the sound of hooves clanking on the ground and the saddle underneath our weight making occasional stretching noises. I felt a pinch of nerves appear in my stomach as I realized that, unless Roger Wakefield was playing a really mean joke on me, I was about to reach the goal I had set out for. Mom, Brianna, Jamie. I was so close.

“Are you sure they’re all there?” I said quietly, hoping Ian wouldn’t hear me. I caught Roger’s attention and he leaned forward to speak into my ear, so his voice wouldn’t carry. 

“Aye. We all live at the Ridge. Everyone’s there. Ian and I rode into town a couple days ago to shop for some hunting supplies. Then I saw a flash of red hair that caught my attention. Ian thought ye were an old girlfriend or something. He made some snide remark about me having a thing for redheads.” I could hear the smirk evident in his voice.

“So, you and Bree are still together, hmm?” 

I felt him stiffen up behind me before he answered, “Ye could say that.”

And so we rode. At one point, the horse staggered slightly beneath us, having not seen a tree branch sprouting up from the ground and Roger tightened his arms around me as he pulled tightly on the reigns to keep the horse calm. Ian looked back briefly at the disruption of the quiet routine we had been set in, but Roger had averted the crisis and the horse shook its mane and kept trudging forward.

“So,” Roger changed the subject after a moment of silence, “ye gonna tell me how ye got here?” 

I turned my head slightly so he could hear my voice better.

“Same way you did, I’m assuming.” 

*  
*  
*

The path to Fraser’s Ridge was long and winding, and the horses changed directions multiple times to avoid certain rough patches of trail. We had been riding for three days and I was sore and tired. We rode a majority of the way in silence, only occasionally making small conversation with the three of us; Me, Ian, and Roger. We were on our own out here in the wilderness; we hadn’t seen another human being since we left Wilmington. We rode most of the day, stopping at night to rest. This is where we did most of the talking, when we sat around the campfire at night. I did my best to engage in conversation, but my mind was obviously preoccupied. The first night we stopped to rest, I waited around uncomfortably, not knowing what to do. Roger had come up behind me and placed a hand on my shoulder.

“Why don’t ye go lay down? Ian and I will stay up and be on the lookout…” At my look of apprehension, he added, “Don’t worry, MacKenzie, you’re safe here. We won’t let anything happen to ye.”

I had given him an appreciative smile and I fell asleep less than five minutes after laying down on the blanket Roger had set out for me. 

Now on day three of our travels, I lost sense of time, but could tell it must have been late afternoon by this point. We had been riding for hours on end and my legs were starting to go numb. Roger Wakefield better not be messing with me. My mind began to drift as we rode. I was tired and hadn’t eaten or drunken anything since early this morning. I felt my body growing more tired by the minute. Then, suddenly but quietly, our horse’s ears perked up a bit, and I noticed that it was likely due to the fact that it seemed to recognize its surroundings. I could feel Roger lighten his grip on the reigns, letting the horse walk more freely. Yep, we were close. Ian’s horse picked up pace ahead of us and our horse followed suit. I could feel the excitement growing in my chest.

Then, as if it were a ride at Disney World, the trees disappeared and large span of land appeared before our eyes. There was so much green; it seemed almost a scene from a movie. There was one large house situated at the center of the grassy mall, and there were numerous cabins and dwellings situated around the outskirts. I could see kids running around, playing tag, and I could see women strolling about with baskets under their arms. The sun was still high in the sky, but it was definitely late afternoon into early evening. There was just a feeling. 

“Welcome to Fraser’s Ridge” I heard Roger say behind me and he slowed the horse to a trot. I felt tears prick at my eyes but swallowed them away.

“It’s beautiful” I said breathlessly. I thought to tell Roger to take me wherever Mom was first, but he directed the horse to the stables on the other side of the land. Some stable lads met us outside the gate, and Roger slid down the horse before offering his arms up to me. I eagerly took them and he hoisted me down to the ground, his grip lingering on my arms for a moment to make sure I had my balance. He said a word of thanks to the stable lad and offered out a hand to me. I was so caught up in the emotions of the moment that I didn’t ask where we were going. 

He led the way away from the center of the Ridge, where the large house was located, and led me towards one of the cabins that sat on the outskirts of the property. As the cabin came closer into sight, I noticed that it was bigger than the other cabins.

“Wow, what did you do to get one of the nicer cabins?” I looked up at him cheekily.

He snickered and looked down at me, opening his mouth to respond, but his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone calling for him.

“Hey!” The female voice called from up ahead. He looked up towards the direction of the cabin and lifted a hand in greeting. I don’t know why, but it took me a moment for my gaze to follow where his was looking. When I looked at the figure up ahead, I felt my knees go weak. 

She looked different. Her hair was hanging down in its natural curls, as opposed to its heat-induced straightness that I was used to. She looked taller, probably elongated by the skirt that flowed down past her ankles. But as she leaned up against the porch railing surrounding the cabin, there was no doubt in my mind who it was. 

Roger and I kept walking closer towards the cabin and she looked as though she opened her mouth to say something again, but then she seemed to freeze. One hand lifted to cover her stomach and the other came up to wrap around her mouth. She leaned back from the porch railing and moved slightly to the side so she was now standing at the top of porch steps. By this time, Roger and I were within a few couple feet of the steps, close enough for facial recognition. I could hear the emotion in her voice as she removed the hand from her mouth.

“MacKenzie?”

My chin quivered with emotion and I forgot all about the sharp pain in my ankle as I felt my legs beginning to move faster.

“Brenna!” At the sound of the nickname I had used for her in our childhood, she lunged down the steps of the porch and we crashed into each other in a bear hug. I felt a sob escape my lips as I dug my head into her hair around her neck. I felt her shaking with emotion as she placed a hand on the back of my head. She pulled back suddenly and stared me in the eyes with tears streaking down her face. She looked at me with disbelief and cupped my face in her hands. 

“What?! How?! I don’t understand!” Her voice was filled with emotion and I smiled back at her.

“Surprise!” It was cheesy, but it was all I could think to say in that moment. Her eyebrows lifted as she let out a tearful laugh before pulling me back into her arms. For the next couple minutes, we repeated this routine over and over again. Her pulling me into a hug, then pulling back to stare at me in disbelief as if I wasn’t really there. Finally, as we both began to calm down, she wiped a hand across my tear-stricken cheeks and looked at me in a motherly fashion.

“I can’t believe it” She said softly and shook her head. I hadn’t noticed Roger walked past us into the cabin, but now he hovered at the doorway watching the two of us.

“Found this crazy woman down at Johnny’s Tavern in town asking for directions to Fraser’s Ridge.” Brianna seemed surprised to hear Roger’s voice, as she looked back up at him when he spoke.

“Well, I’m so glad you did!” She looked back to me with a large smile on her face. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? Are you hungry? Are you thirsty?” She looked at me with concern, but I just smiled back at her. 

“I am perfectly fine, Brenna. I’m just so happy I found you.” I pulled her into another hug and she squeezed back tightly.

“I have three people that I came here to see. I have one down, but there’s still two more to go.” I said while we were still in each other’s embrace.

She pulled back excitedly and looked into my eyes. She gazed back at Roger who was still standing in the doorway, and though I couldn’t see her face, she obviously was communicating something with him and he lifted his hand as a way to say ‘Don’t worry, I got it’ and looked back into the house, almost as if he was looking at someone. Before I had a chance to ask, she whipped her head back around at me and smiled excitedly.

“Come on, I saw Mom in her garden earlier. I’ll take you!” She locked arms with mine and, just like that, the two of us were on our way back towards the large house at the center of the Ridge. It was early evening by now, and there was a slight breeze beginning to pick up. It was a welcomed breeze, as it cooled the air around us from the hot sun that had been present earlier in the day. We passed the stable again, and Brianna waved a friendly hand at the man who I now knew as Ian. There was another man next to him, though, who lifted a hand in greeting as well. He had long, dark hair that was pulled back into a low ponytail and I noticed he seemed to be wearing a dark glove, but only on one hand. As Brianna led me away from the stables, I saw the mysterious man look curiously down at Ian in question. 

“Mom is gonna freak!” Brianna’s voice pulled me back to the present, and the Big House was only a couple yards away now. I took a deep breath and squeezed her arm nervously. The Big House was large and it went on and on. We rounded the corner to where I supposed the garden was, but I didn’t see my mom. A blonde girl with a bonnet on her head looked up at us in greeting. She stood up from her place on the ground, and she brushed her hands on her skirt to wipe away the dirt. She looked young, but I couldn’t help but notice she was pregnant. 

“Marsali, do you know where mom is?” Brianna voice was excited at my side. The blonde girl smiled and nodded her head.

“Aye, she just went up to the house about 10 minutes ago to freshen up for dinner.”

The blonde girl looked kindly at me, but before I could introduce myself, Brianna was pulling me back towards the house. I smiled apologetically at the girl over my shoulder, but she did a brushing-away movement with her hands and turned back to the garden. Brianna led me up the stairs to the deck of the Big House, but instead of walking inside, she led me around the deck. I only briefly admired the view of the Ridge from here when we had rounded the corner, and I saw her.

Her back was to us, but even the sight of that made my heart jump to my throat. Her dark hair hung long and curly down her back, longer than I had ever seen it back in our time. She was looking out over the edge of the deck, out at the Ridge. She wore a cream-colored dress that hung down below her ankles, and she had a plaid red tartan wrapped around her shoulders to shield from the increasing breeze. Her arms were crossed about her chest, but I could tell that the look on her face was one of contentment. 

Brianna smiled at me from my side and loosened her grip from my arm. She cleared her throat to get Mom’s attention, but Mom didn’t turn around. She simply tilted her head to the side as if she was telling whoever it was that was trying to get her attention that they didn’t deserve to have her look away from her view. Brianna didn’t say anything, not wanting to spoil the moment. After a couple seconds, once she realized that whoever had made the noise hadn’t responded further, Mom turned her head over her shoulder. She had a slight smile on her face as her gaze fell on Brianna. Brianna, with glassy eyes, smiled and nodded her head in my direction. And then Mom was looking at me. 

The smile fell from her face and she went pale. Her breath seemed to catch in her throat as she fully turned her body around to face us. I felt frozen, like my legs were nailed to the ground. I felt light-headed as well, as though I might pass out. I don’t know how long we stood staring at each other, but it was my voice that eventually broke the silence, though I felt I didn’t recognize it as it came out of my mouth.

“Hi, Mama…”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hold on, MacKenzie. Everything's been going perfectly well, so far. Will it last?

It’s funny how one can imagine a specific moment over and over in their mind, and imagine different scenarios of how said moment will unfold. I did that; multiple times over the last few years, I had imagined what I would do when I saw my mom again. At first, I thought about it simply as therapy for the mind. I doubted I would ever see her again. 

But then, as time went on, and I had been away from her for longer, I seemed to desperately want the moment to be real. Especially in the past few weeks, as I made my journey through the colonies, I willed for this moment to really become a reality. 

I imagined different scenarios. In one scenario, I ran into her arms and she embraced me in the biggest hug I could imagine. Another scenario, I screamed and yelled at her for ever leaving me, allowing my boiled-up emotions to spill out. Finally, there was the scenario where I kept my composure and held my head up high; as if I was saying, “Yes, I’ve been through a lot, but I’ve survived.”

But here, in the moment, none of those things happened. She simply stared at me, her face pale and emotionless. I could feel Brianna buzzing with excitement next to me, but I was only vaguely aware of the rest of my surroundings. As she stared at me, her knuckles turning white against the railing she was leaning against, I began to feel that this moment wasn’t really happening. I was fairly certain that I wasn’t dreaming; there was an evident bruise under my wrist where I had repeatedly pinched myself multiple times over these past couple weeks. Also, Brianna’s reaction to seeing me was genuine; I knew that for a fact. But how could I be so sure? The brain is the body’s most powerful organ, and it could very well be working in overdrive right now. Who’s to say my mind is not playing tricks on me and, any minute, I would wake up from this dream in my childhood bedroom back home in Boston?

I felt for the tender spot under my wrist again, and pulled my fingers away quickly as I a slight twinge of pain. And yet, the scene in front of me was still the same. Mom’s eyebrows had furrowed slightly, as if she was contemplating the same thing. Was this really happening?

I wasn’t consciously aware of my breathing, but I felt it coming in short breaths. I could feel the panic rising in my chest. Whatever reaction I was expecting, this wasn’t it. I felt the sudden urge to turn and run away. My mouth was dry and I really felt like I was going to faint. I swallowed deeply and shifted my eyes to my feet, hoping to give my mind something to concentrate on. This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening…

“Kenzie…” Her voice was soft and timid. I wasn’t even certain that I had heard it, but she spoke again.

“MacKenzie…” I looked up at her slowly, for fear that when I looked up, she wouldn’t really be standing there. When my gaze met hers, though, she was there. Both her hands were clasped over her bosom, as if by doing so, more air would enter her lungs. I felt my composure break, and I felt the tears pour down my cheeks. One tear, two tears, three tears…

“Mama…” I said breathlessly. Suddenly, I felt like I was five years old again and I had skinned my knee outside. After all the chaos of the accident and running to get help, I had held my composure until I was brought into the kitchen and saw my mom’s face. It’s the moment when you’ve been strong for too long and have tried to act brave in front of everyone else, but the moment you lay eyes on your mom, the walls come down. You run to her, she puts her arms around you, and nothing in the world can hurt you anymore. I took a step forward.

“Hi Mama…” Another step. It seemed as if then, all of a sudden, it hit her. I was really here, standing in front of her. She let out a deep sigh of relief and reached out her arms to me as I approached. Another step. And another. And I was there. 

I felt her arms envelope me. I lifted my shaky hands to wrap around her back and felt her shaking arms around me. I could hear her crying and she hugged me tighter; I let out a sob I didn’t realize I had been holding in. She was slightly taller than me, but not noticeably so, and my head fit perfectly on her shoulder. I felt my knees slightly go weak, but I willed them to stand. Her hand came up to stroke my hair.

“Oh, MacKenzie! My baby…” She exclaimed as she squeezed even tighter than before. It made me cry harder. 

“Mama, I missed you so much, I can’t even say.” She pulled back to look at me and rested her hands around my cheeks. Her eyes were shiny with water and I could feel her hands shaking around my face. She seemed to search my eyes, as thought to make sure I was really there. I blinked up at her and more tears ran down her face. She rested her forehead on mine and we both closed our eyes. 

“Oh, thank the Lord. Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you…” She whispered repeatedly. I had almost forgotten Brianna’s presence behind us, and was only reminded when I heard the deck creak under her weight. Mom heard them too, and opened her watery eyes. She released one hand from my face and reached out to lay it on Brianna’s cheek. She had been crying too, watching the scene unfold. I looked at her and back up at Mom, who pulled the both of us into a bear hug. 

“I never thought I’d see this day. Both of my girls, both here, safe and healthy…” A thought seemed to occur to her. She pulled back from the embrace and looked at me worriedly. 

“Are you okay, MacKenzie?! Are you hurt? I can tell by your skin, you haven’t eaten well recently!” She placed both hands on my cheeks again, her eyes frantically searching for an illness or injury that wasn’t obviously prevalent to the naked eye. I giggled and smiled tearfully up at her. 

“Mama, I’m fine! I promise.” Actually, the pain in my ankle had returned as I came to my senses and I truly hadn’t eaten a proper meal in close to two weeks. But that’s not the point right now. She smiled back at me, then at Brianna who was still buzzing with excitement. 

“Can you believe it, Mama?! Roger and Ian went down to Wilmington to get some supplies and there she was! I was sitting at the cabin when I saw Roger walking up with a strange person and I went out to investigate and I couldn’t believe it!” 

She squeezed me into a side hug. Mom beamed down proudly, and still a little shocked, at the both of us. 

“I can’t believe it, Bree.” She shook her head and pulled both of us into a tight hug again. We stayed there for a moment, just the three of us. I thought back to the night dad died, when Mom had held Brianna and I just like this. We were crying for a different reason then. We stayed in each other’s embrace for a while. I breathed in her scent; though I couldn’t pinpoint it, rather that she simply smelled like herself. 

“Your hair is so long…” My hand that was placed on her back grasped at the end of a curl the brushed along my fingers. As I pulled away from her, I pulled forward two chunks of hair to rest in front of her shoulders. She looked down at my hands and smiled. 

“Yes, well, there’s not much I can do for it besides trim it every now and then…” Then, she mimicked my actions, pulling pieces of my hair forward in front of my shoulders. 

“I love this hair,” she brushed her fingers through the ends, “I brushed and braided this hair.” She smiled at me and then pulled me once more into a hug. For the first time in a while, I felt safe. I took a step back when she released me and tried to subdue a wince as my ankle throbbed in pain once again. Mom’s face went into concerned mother-mode instantly and she placed both hands squarely on my shoulders. She looked at me sternly as if she was communicating her question to me through her eyes, and I wanted to melt from nostalgia at the feeling of having my mom look at me like that again. I answered her unspoken question begrudgingly. 

“Actually, I think I may have badly sprained my ankle a couple weeks ago…It’s not a big deal though! It just hurts to…you know…put pressure on it…” Brianna snickered at my elbow and Mom stood up straighter and began to turn me around towards the direction of the house. 

“Well, then. Let’s go have a look at that. Shall we?” It wasn’t a question. Before I knew it, I was being whisked away to the house, Mom and Brianna on both sides of me. 

*  
*  
*

“I feel like I’m in a lair.” My eyes wandered across the back wall of Mom’s surgery. It was beautifully furnished with dark wood and there were countless jars filled with unknown medical substances aligning the walls. “Leave it to Claire Randall to set up a surgery room anywhere she goes…” 

Mom rolled her eyes playfully and crouched down to her knees in front of the bed where I was perched in the corner of the room. She began to carefully slide the shoe off my foot when the thought occurred to me. 

“I guess I should say Claire Fraser, now…” 

Mom placed the shoe haphazardly to the side and began to pull back my sock. She paused briefly at my comment, and looked up at me solemnly. Her mouth opened slightly as she was about to respond, when the door to the surgery opened and Brianna appeared with a steaming cup of tea. My mouth watered instantly as the sight. Bree made her way across the room and handed the cup to me in a theatric manner. 

“One cup of chamomile, your royal highness.” I shook my head jokingly and carefully took the steaming mug from her hands. God, how I missed her playful banter. 

The tea burned my tongue as I sipped, but it slid down my throat and I felt the dryness cease to exist almost instantly. I closed my eyes and smiled into the mug. Brianna pulled up one of the chairs and sat in it near the end of the bed, leaning over slightly to get a view of my ankle as Mom pulled back the sock and inspected the damage. 

Her fingers gently prodded at the swollen ankle. It was different shades of blue and purple and swollen about two times its normal size. I sucked at my teeth when I felt her fingers poke a particularly tender spot. 

“You should always watch where you’re going when you are running down an uninhabited hill in the 18th Century.” I said cynically. Brianna laughed and sat up straighter in her chair. 

“I hurt my ankle when I first came here, too. I guess it’s a rite of passage.” My eyes met hers briefly before Mom’s voice, soft and gentle, registered in my ears. 

“I don’t think anything’s broken. But you’re right, it’s definitely a deep sprain. She pushed herself up from her kneeling position and grabbed the mug from my hands. 

“Here, lean back and elevate your leg.” She motioned to the headboard of the bed and I slowly scooted my way backwards, mindful not to needlessly aggravate the injury. Once leaning back against the headboard, Mom grabbed some pillows and carefully placed them underneath the injured ankle. Once satisfied with my current position, she sat on the side of the bed and faced me, placing one arm on the opposite side of me so I was looking her straight in the eyes. She didn’t say anything at first, almost as if she was memorizing my features, but then she quietly spoke. 

“I really can’t believe you’re here.” Her hand reached up to stroke my cheek. I leaned into her touch. 

“Me neither. I missed you so much, Mama…” 

The three of us sat together for a while, chatting about everything and nothing. The conversation was mostly concentrated on me, from what I had been up to since Bree left and what my journey had been like to get here. Mom stayed seated next to me on the bed, her presence comforting in and of itself. I noticed that she still wore Daddy’s wedding ring on her left ring finger. I also noticed that the ring on her right ring finger was different than the one she had worn all my life. I brought my finger up to touch it, and Mom’s eyes shifted down to her hand. 

“It’s different than the normal one…” I said curiously. 

Mom smiled to herself and adjusted the ring with her thumb so it swiveled around her finger. 

“I’m afraid I lost the other one. Your father had this one made it in its place.” 

I looked up to meet her eyes and smiled. I could faintly see Brianna’s face from my peripheral and she was gazing down at her fingers, seemingly lost in thought. Mom’s eyes followed where mine were looking and she quickly glanced back at me and smiled again. She grasped both hands in mine and stroked her fingers against the knuckles. I smiled hesitantly down at them. 

“My father…” My voice sounded dreamy. I heard Mom let out a cautious sigh. 

“Yes, your father…” 

I looked up hopefully. “So, he’s here?”

Mom smiled and looked at Brianna, who raised her eyebrows and smiled as well. 

“Yes, Kenzie, he’s here!” She said excitedly. Mom’s gaze floated back to me. I looked between the two of them momentarily before taking a deep breath. 

“Well, I’d like to meet him.” 

*  
*  
*

Brianna stayed up at the house, claiming she wanted this moment to be private. Mom and I’s arms were interlocked as we slowly walked out towards the stables. My ankle still throbbed slightly, but it felt better than it had in weeks; a mother’s touch. 

Apparently, one of Jamie’s favorite things in the world was horses and every evening after a long day’s work, he would take a couple minutes out of the day to go check on them at the stables. It was early evening by now, and the stable lads had retired for dinner, meaning Jamie would likely be the only person there. She held on to me tight, as though if she let go, I would disappear. 

“What will I say to him?” I asked timidly. Mom’s head leaned against mine in response. 

“The words will come to you” 

“Does he even know who I am?” 

Mom’s pace slowed and she looked at me incredulously. I bat my eyelashes back at her; stupid question, I know. But also, fair. 

“Oh, MacKenzie! If I had a dollar for every time he asked me about you…” She shook her head and smiled. The stable was within a couple yards of us now, and we both slowed to a stop. Mom turned to me. 

“I’m going to let you go in, alone. You and him deserve this moment for just the two of you. But I am going to hang back outside, in case he might actually need medical attention when he sees you.” We were both facing each other now, our hands intertwined. She smiled comfortingly and placed a kiss on my forehead. I took a deep and breath and nodded my head. As I turned around, I felt her hand reassuringly rub on my back. “Heart, don’t fail me now…” I thought. One step, two steps, three steps. 

*  
*  
*

The stable had high ceilings, creating a spacious atmosphere. There were twenty or so horses lined up along both sides of the stable, tucked away cozily for the night. I timidly poked my head around the entrance door, but pulled back quickly out of view at the sight of a person. The person was on the far side of the stable with his back towards me, speaking affectionately to one of the horses. He didn’t see me, but I had pulled my head back out of sight because of the strange feeling that I was trespassing on private property. I looked back out towards the direction where I left Mom, and saw her leaning up against the fence that surrounded the stable. She wasn’t looking in my direction, but I felt a sense of peace knowing she was there. “Now or never, Kenz…” I internally encouraged myself. I took a deep breath, quickly brushed my hands against my skirt in an attempt to dry my clammy hands, and carefully made my way out of my hiding place and in through the front door of the stable. 

His back was still towards me, and he was still petting the horse’s nose and affectionately talking to it. The horse seemed to be taking in every moment of it. 

I took in his appearance. I knew he was tall, but seeing him in person, he was really tall. Definitely where Brianna gets her height from. His hair was a beautiful auburn color, tied back lazily into a ponytail at the base of his skull. Yep, definitely where Brianna gets her hair from. Me too, technically. I was born with red hair, but it was never as red as Bree’s and it got gradually lighter as I got older. Still red, but not the kind of red that people make comments about. Mom always classified it as a bright strawberry blonde. 

He had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the collar of his shirt was loosened. I felt the urge to run and hug him, but thought an introduction first would work better. Words failed me, so I settled with clearing my throat. 

At the sound, his head turned away from the horse and his gaze settled on me. He looked at me curiously, but his eyes were kind. He released his hold on the horse’s nose and wiped his hands off on his pants. He looked at me as though he recognized me, but he couldn’t pinpoint from where. I realized we were both standing in silence, and decided to clear my throat again. 

“Um, hello. I….” The words were not coming easily. How did Brianna do this when she first met him? I straightened my shoulders and stood up taller, lifted my chin and took a deep breath. 

“Are…Are you James Fraser?” I didn’t recognize my own voice. It sounded so small. He took a step closer to me. 

“I am.” These two words alone made my stomach leap with excitement. So, he was real. “Can I help ye, lass?” His voice was gruff, but strong. His Scottish accent was thick. It made me want to melt. He took another step towards me. 

“Um, yes actually. I—I…” I really should have rehearsed this better; I’m not making a very good first impression. Just spit it out; you’ve already committed to it. 

“My name is MacKenzie. MacKenzie Alexandra. I am your daughter.” 

He stared back at me like Mom had not even an hour ago. I guess when a person experiences pure shock, they feel so many emotions at once that it appears as them being emotionless. I swallowed deeply as he took another step towards me. He was only a couple feet away from me now; close enough that I could see a set of scars on his right hand. He seemed to be studying me intently; judging the reality of my presence. 

“MacKenzie.” He sounded different when he said my name. I knew my name was of Scottish heritage, and I had heard Roger pronounce it in a Scottish accent before, but there was something about the way Jamie said it that made my eyes water. I wasn’t looking up at him, but I could see the scarred hand reach up and cup my face. At his touch, I lifted my eyes to meet his. Damn, he really was tall. His eyes were glassy just like mine. My chin quivered for the umpteenth time that day and he smiled down at me. 

“You are more beautiful than I could have ever imagined.” 

His voice was hoarse with emotion and I only briefly looked back up at him before I felt myself wrap my arms around his neck. He reached down and wrapped his arms around me as well, and I felt my feet lift off the ground as he picked me up. He was strong. He made me feel safe. We stayed wrapped in each other’s embrace even after I felt my feet touch the ground again. I had had quite my fair share of reunions today, but this one was different. Ever since Mom told Brianna and I about Jamie Fraser a couple years ago, seated on the floor of Roger Wakefield’s living room, I couldn’t have imagined this moment. 

When Mom first told us, I was mad. Bree was outwardly mad, as she stormed out of the house. I, however, didn’t let my anger show on my face at the moment, mainly because Bree had already stormed out and I didn’t want to leave Mom alone. I thought that whatever she was going through, she didn’t need both her daughters to show anger towards her. But I was mad, because she lied to us for our entire lives. I knew Mom and Dad’s marriage wasn’t perfect but it wasn’t until the last couple years of his life that their strained relationship became obvious to Brianna and I. And then there we were, only a mere couple months after we buried him, and she was already tearing apart the character of the strongest man we ever knew; or, at least that was what Bree and I felt in the moment. 

*  
*  
*

_I stared emotionless into the electric fireplace of Roger Wakefield’s living room, near where Brianna had been sitting only a few minutes ago. There had been the faint echo of the front door slamming as Bree stormed out of the house, but since then, there was complete silence. I sat on the couch opposite Roger, and Mom sat on a cushioned chair on the other side of the room. Roger sat stone-faced, absorbing the story Mom had just told us, but refusing to make any sudden movements. No, the palpable tension in the room was focused on me and how I would react._

_I felt numb, like someone had just taken everything I knew to be true, and ripped it out from under me. Mom wasn’t looking at me, but when I shifted my eyes in her direction, her eyes locked with mine instantly. She looked apprehensive, like she was waiting for me to explode like Brianna did. Her eyes bore into mine, imploring me to say something. I furrowed my brows, thinking of the right thing to say. Nothing seemed right._

_“How could you?” At the sound of my voice, I heard Roger release a breath he had been holding. Mom’s expression didn’t change. She stared at me waiting for me to say more. I shook my head and stared down at my hands upon my lap; they were shaking._

_“Daddy has been gone for not even six months, and you have the audacity to talk this nonsense of him?” My voice was quiet but angry. I looked back up at Mom disgustingly. She shook her head slightly, as if she was confused by my words, and opened her mouth to respond, but I continued on._

_“I know that your marriage wasn’t perfect. I know that you guys had your issues; hell, everyone does. But he loved you. And me. And Bree.” I shifted forward on the couch to stare more directly at her._

_“He was the best father anyone could ask for. He taught us how to rides bikes. He played with us as little girls. He took us to the daddy-daughter dances. He taught us how to drive. He was always there to answer the call. And on the night of his death, you guys fought. His last thoughts before the car flipped were words of anger that you two spouted at each other. And now he’s gone. He’ll never walk me or Bree down the aisle. He’ll never be there to see us graduate. He’ll never meet his grandchildren. And you and your self-centered arrogance can’t even let him rest in peace. He has no way to defend himself, and you use this opportunity to speak ill of him.”_

_My eyes bore into hers as I spoke. Her expression remained the same, but her eyes grew watery as I spoke._

_“How dare you, Dr. Randall.” The words came out of my mouth full of hate. I saw her take a deep breath before she responded._

_“MacKenzie…” Her voice was stern, but she was fighting back tears._

_At the sound of my name, I stood up from the couch and looked around for my bag._

_“No! No, I can’t stay here and listen to you talk about Daddy this way.” My eyes dodged frantically around the room._

_“It’s the truth…” Mom had thrown the pillow that she had been holding beside her. There was something in her voice that made me stop and look at her. She looked sad, and hurt._

_“Your father, Frank Randall, was your father in every way, shape and form. No one, and I mean no one, can ever take that away from him. He took in you and your sister as his own, and never looked back. But by the laws of science, he is – was – not genetically related to you.”_

_Her eyes were pleading with mine, and I wanted to leave this house, this country, as soon as I could. But there was something in the way she looked at me that made me stay. I was still standing, having not moved in a couple minutes, and I looked once again aimlessly into the electric fireplace. There are no photographs of Brianna that exist before she’s about six months old. Mom said they were lost in a basement flood years ago. But now she expects me to believe that the real reason we have no photographs of Bree are because she was actually born in the 1700s?! I looked back at Mom in concern; she must obviously have officially lost her mind. She looked up at me hopefully, as if I had somehow changed my mind about the truth of her story within the last ten minutes. I looked away, back into the electric fireplace, when I heard her voice again._

_“Brianna is just like him. Her hair, her eyes, her smile. The way she walks down the street. The way she smiles in her sleep. Everything she does reminds me of him. But you are just like him too.” I looked back at her again._

_“You…have always resembled my side of the family; the Beauchamp’s. Your features, your mannerisms, your overall presence. But the red hair comes from him. I know, growing up, we always said that red hair skips generations and that’s why you and Bree have red hair, but neither your father or I did. But Jamie’s hair is the most fiery of red’s you’ve ever seen, and he passed it directly on to both of you guys.”_

_I inhaled deeply and looked back towards the couch, where Roger was still sitting like a statue. He looked up at me when I turned, though, and shrugged his shoulders slightly. I closed my eyes briefly to get my wits about me, before turning back to Mom. She looked like she was on the verge of a full-on breakdown. I fell to my knees in front of her, and grasped both of her hands. She squeezed them tightly and looked back into my eyes._

_“Okay. I believe you.” She let out a deep breath at this, and pulled me in for a hug. Once my face was out of her sight though, embraced in a deep hug, I opened my eyes and felt tears threaten to spill._

_Did I really believe her?_

*  
*  
*

Brianna came around to the idea faster though, and before I knew it, she was eagerly helping Mom and Roger research this mysterious man. I felt that I didn’t get my moment to be upset like Bree did, but once the mood had changed from anger to acceptance to excitement, I did not want to be the one to ruin the atmosphere. So, I kept quiet. When Mom asked me how I felt, I said of course, it was a shock, but I wanted her to be happy. I was mad at this man for taking my mom away from me, and eventually my sister too. But then I began to think of what he was like. What did he look like? What did he sound like? I began to think of having a father in my life again. 

Frank Randall is my father in every way shape or form, but what would it be like to hug a father, any father, again? Apparently, it was pure relief. Relief that Mom wasn’t crazy, relief that both her and Bree were safe, relief that I had actually found them, and relief that he seemed to be happy to see me. 

The tears were flowing down my face freely, but they came down harder as I realized he was crying too. I was overwhelmed with emotion and the words came pouring out of my mouth. 

“I’m so happy to finally meet you.” My voice shook as I spoke. I felt him chuckle through the tears. I pulled away and looked up at him. He wiped a hand across his face to wipe the wetness from his cheeks. I smiled a tearful smile up at him. 

“I thought it was ye, but I’m gettin’ auld and I thought my eyes were deceiving me.” His hand came up to cup my cheek and I leaned into his touch. His hands were rough but strong. His fingers felt coarse from years of manual labor and building, but they gently stroked my cheek with a sense of tender affection. 

“How did you know it was me?” 

He let his hand drop from my cheek and I felt him grab both of my hands in his. “When yer mom came back to me years ago, she brought a handful of….pictures?” His eyes shifted to me in question, and I nodded. 

“Aye, pictures. She had a whole stack of them, of you and Bree. Some of the pictures of Bree were from when she was verra young, and she looked almost the same as when I had last seen her. Of course, she got older and I had to adjust the image of her in my mind, but when I looked at the pictures of ye, I felt I had to engrain the image of ye in my mind, because I never met ye. Then Bree came back, so when I wanted to see her face, I could just look outside in the garden where she and yer mom were sitting. But every night before bed, I’d pull the pictures out of the small chest I keep in our room, and I would just stare at the pictures of ye. I would look at yer hair, yer eyes, the shape of yer face. I would just stare at the pictures of ye in hopes that I would have a permanent image in my mind.” 

My heart could have melted then and there. 

“Well, how do I compare to the pictures?” 

His lips curved into a smile and he brought both my hands up to his mouth, where he placed a soft kiss on each. 

“Pictures could never do you justice, a leannan.” 

We embraced in a hug once more and when we pulled back, he was smiling down at me, but his gaze shifted to something above my head, behind me. I turned around curiously, and saw Mom standing in the doorway of the barn. She had tears streaming down her cheeks as well as she strode over to us. When she approached, she looked lovingly at Jamie in a way that I had never seen her look before, at anything or anyone. She rested a hand on his check and he pulled her into his side; she fit perfectly in the crook of his neck, I noticed. Tucked perfectly into his side, she reached out and pulled me into the hug as well. My head rested on her chest and her hand stroked my hair. I felt Jamie engulf the two of us into a hug, and I felt, for the first time in a long time, that all was right in the world. 


	5. Chapter 5

The house was quiet when the three of us walked back in. Mom had left Brianna with instructions to tell everyone not to wait on us and go ahead and eat. I was curious to know who “everyone” was, but I would find out in time. I stared around the living room awkwardly, not knowing where to go. 

Da (as he told me to call him) stood behind Mom and tugged the plaid off her shoulders, but he didn’t realize it was fastened in the front, so when he tugged at it, the fabric came up and pulled against Mom’s neck. She reached her hands up quickly and unfastened the fabric, before turning around and playfully swatting Da across the check with a corner of the cloth. Da had ducked away, chuckling to himself, and put his hands up in mock surrender. I tried not to make it too obvious that I was staring, but I couldn’t help the warm feeling that rose in my stomach; Mom seemed so relaxed and at peace with herself, and I had no doubt that it was Jamie Fraser’s influence. 

I was tired. So, incredibly tired. I had been going nonstop for the past couple weeks and now that I was here, and everything seemed to be falling perfectly into place, my guard was beginning to come down. My eyes being concentrated on the craftsmanship of the crown molding, I didn’t realize Mom standing next to me until her fingers tenderly stroked through my hair. It gave me goosebumps and I felt a tension release from shoulders; her presence made me feel safe. 

“Let’s go get you some real food, Kenz.” At her prompting, I willed my feet to move and followed her into the dining room, Da following close behind. 

When we walked in, the table was set for four people, with some sort of a stew sitting in the center. The smell hit my nose and my mouth instantly began to water. Brianna finished placing a set of glasses on the table and stood back with a wide grin. 

“Table for four.” She announced and clasped her hands together. Just as Da pulled out a chair and motioned for me to sit, another person walked into the room, a woman I didn’t recognize. She was younger than me, with tiny features and a timid look on her face. She carried a basket of rolls in her hands. 

“You forgot these, Miss Bree.” She placed the basket on the table and bowed her head as she began to turn around. Brianna’s voice stopped her. 

“Wait, Lizzie! I would like to introduce you to my sister, MacKenzie.” 

Brianna came around to stand by my side and the girl named Lizzie turned around quickly and let her mouth hang open slightly. She came around the table as well and stood in front of me, with a look of disbelief on her face. 

“Could it be?” Seeming to remember herself, she stepped back and bowed to me. When she looked at me once more, she smiled kindly. 

“Miss Bree has told me so much about ye. I am verra pleased to meet ye.” She extended a hand to me and I gladly took it. 

“You too, Lizzie.” Not about the part of having heard so much about this Lizzie girl, but rather that I was pleased to meet her. Lizzie’s eyes shifted to where Brianna stood beaming next to me. 

“Ye should have told me we were settin’ the table for four people meanin’ yer sister, I just assumed the fourth person was Roger!” 

At the mention of Roger’s name, I felt Brianna tense up beside me. I looked at her curiously, but when her eyes met mine, she shook the tension and forced a smile at me once more. Whatever had made Brianna tense up, Lizzie seemed to have gotten the message. The smile fell from her eyes and she looked at Brianna questioningly. She soon regained her composure, though, and smiled at me once again. After another bow, she swiftly left the room. Brianna let out a sigh and tossed her hair over her shoulders before walking back around to the other side of the table and sitting down. Da was still standing behind the chair he had pulled out for me, and when I sat down, he placed a hand reassuringly on my shoulder and made his way to the head of the table. Mom had sat down at her place at the table opposite Da sometime during our encounter with Lizzie, and she had taken the time to pour wine into the waiting glasses. 

She handed them to the three of us and Da, still standing at the head of the table, raised his glass slightly in the air. Mom, Bree, and I all followed suit and looked at him expectantly. He held Mom’s gaze before shifting his focus to Brianna and I. 

“I didna wake up this morning thinkin’ this is how my day was going to end. But I am grateful that it is so. To family and safety.” 

At that, he lifted the glass to his lips and sipped, the rest of us following suit. The dinner went by in a blur. I was aware of the stew, the steamy broth and thoroughly-cooked meat, music to my taste buds. I was aware of Da’s voice, speaking of the day’s work, updating Mom on whatever she needed to be updated on about the Ridge. I conversed when spoken to, not wanting to be rude, but my eyelids continued to grow heavier despite my protests, and even the pleasure of a well-cooked meal could not curb my exhaustion. Mom must have noticed this, for she nonchalantly began to redirect the conversation elsewhere, of different happenings of the Ridge and of people whose names I was not acquainted with. To be completely honest, I was perfectly fine just sitting at the table listening to them talk. Da’s deep voice, commanding but soft. Mom’s small giggle at something Da said. Brianna’s eyes continuing to catch my gaze, as if to reassure me that I was safe. Some time had passed by the time I heard the front door open. 

The front door to the house was a couple rooms away from where we were sitting in the dining room, and the conversation quickly subsided at the sound of the latch clicking behind whoever had walked in. I saw Mom’s head crane slightly in an attempt to see around my chair into the hall. Da took a sip of the whisky he had been drinking and then placed the glass softly on the table. 

“Probably Ian coming in from his nightly chores.” Da looked at Mom when he spoke, as if answering a question she hadn’t asked. Ian was a name that I could at least put a face to, him having accompanied Roger and I from Wilmington to Fraser’s Ridge. The thought of Roger reminded me of Brianna tensing up when Lizzie mentioned his name. Why had she done that? I thought back to my conversations with Roger on our journey to the Ridge. _So, you and Bree are still together?_ I had asked him. _Ye could say that._ Had been his answer. What did that mean? I remembered my reunion with Brianna, when she had looked back to Roger before whisking me away to reunite with Mom. I remember thinking that there was someone else in the cabin that I couldn’t see. My exhaustion subsided slightly as I pondered these questions. What is it that no one is telling me? 

I barely had time to contemplate what sounded like little feet padding down the hallway and a child’s giggle before a young boy, three-years-old at the most, came barreling into the dining room and threw himself against Da’s lap. Da, initially taken by surprise, regained his composure and playfully picked up the little boy. The room was filled with shrieks of joy from the little boy as Da dug a finger into his side, tickling him. The boy’s laughter was contagious and I found myself smiling also. Out of the corner of my eyes, I noticed Brianna quickly look at Mom before looking back to the young boy on Da’s lap. She seemed surprised, but not a good surprise. 

“Where’s yer Da, Jem?” Da asked the little boy, after he had calmed himself down. 

In answer, Roger rounded the corner and walked in the dining room, my back being to him. Whatever scene Roger was expecting to find once he walked into the house, this wasn’t it, for as soon as he rounded the corner and saw the four of us sitting at the table, he stopped dead in his tracks and went pale. This gave me an uneasy feeling and when I looked back at Brianna, her face didn’t make me feel any better. Her elbows were propped on the table, her hands clasped tightly together, and her eyes were intent on Roger. She seemed to shake her head at him, unconscious communication. Mom seemed to be holding her breath. 

The room had gone quiet since the boy’s laughter subsided, the only sound being the boy’s feet as he plopped down from Da’s lap and stopped in front of me. 

“What is your name?” 

I stared down at him, my mind reeling with all the possible different explanations for this scenario that was unfolding before my eyes. The boy’s hair was a light blonde, with the slightest tinge of strawberry blonde, and he had big blue eyes that stared up at me curiously. 

“MacKenzie. What is your name?” My voice unwillingly quivered. 

The boy’s eyes lit up and a smile appeared on his face. 

“My name is MacKenzie, too!” He pointed to himself excitedly. 

“Jeremiah MacKenzie!” 

Despite everything else, the one thing I noticed about Jeremiah was how articulate he was. He couldn’t have been more than three or four years old, but I could understand him perfectly. 

At this moment, Roger seemed to snap himself back into action. Before Jeremiah could say anything more, he was swooped off his feet and hoisted onto Roger’s hip. 

“I, uh…I’m sorry, I didna realize ye would still be eating. Jem forgot his blanket over here this morning and he wouldna sleep without it.” Roger spoke fast, like he would rather be anywhere else but here. 

“I think I might have seen it in my surgery.” Mom’s voice broke the awkward silence hanging over the room. Brianna’s face had gone a shade of red, like she was angry about something. Da simply picked at the loose threads of the table cloth. 

“Aye, verra well. We’ll be on our way, then. Say goodnight, Jem…” Roger was already walking back around the corner to exit the main part of the house and over to Mom’s surgery. His footsteps got farther and farther away, and the sound of the front door opening echoed down the hall. But not before little Jeremiah’s voice floated through the house. 

“G’night, Grannie and GrandDa!” 

*  
*  
*

We had been sitting in silence for what seemed like an hour, but it was definitely only a few minutes. No one wanted to be the first to say something. My attention was focused on the plate in front of me, but I could tell that everyone was waiting to hear what I was going to say. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to form coherent thoughts. _He definitely said Grannie and GrandDa; and he was definitely referring to Mom and Da._ When I finally looked up across the table at Brianna, she wasn’t looking at me. Rather, her elbows were still propped up on the table with her hands clasped in front of her, but she had lowered her head onto her hands so I couldn’t see her face. 

I didn’t realize I was heavily grasping the knife in my hand, but when I looked down, my knuckles were turning white. I released my grip, the knife falling back to the table with a thud, the noise being the only other sound in the room. Finally, I looked up at Mom, who met my gaze immediately. Her lips were squeezed tightly together, and she looked at me with apprehension. When I finally spoke, my voice was low and groggy, as if I didn’t want to hear the answer to the question I was about to ask. 

“Who—“ I had to clear my throat before continuing, “Who is that little boy?” 

I held Mom’s gaze, and she released a deep breath. Her eyes shifted to Da’s across the table, and stopped herself just as she was about to respond. Then, all three sets of eyes laid upon Brianna, who felt the attention shift to her. When she lifted her head from her hands, she was looking directly back at me. She looked at me apologetically. 

“Jeremiah is my son. Mine and Roger’s.” 

I felt ridiculous, staring back at her open-mouthed. Something inside of me dropped, the feeling one gets when struck with unexpected news. Brianna’s gaze held mine, but I wasn’t making eye contact with her. I felt my brows furrow slightly in confusion, but when I finally could consciously comprehend that everyone was once again waiting for what I was going to say, I shook my head slightly, as if to shake away the confusion. 

“You have a son?” 

She swallowed deeply and looked briefly to Mom, as if to ask for her help explaining. Mom remained silent though, forcing Brianna to continue. 

“Yes. I—uh—When I went through the stones…” Her voice lowered a few notes, as if to prevent others from hearing her, though I was fairly sure we were alone in the house, just the four of us. 

“When I went through the stones, Roger followed me only a couple weeks later. We both went through at Craigh Na Dun, meaning we had to take a ship over here to the colonies. Since I was a couple weeks ahead of him, I made it to Wilmington before him. However, he showed up only a little while later, and found me fairly quickly. We—uh—we got married in a handfasting ceremony, and then I went on my way to Cross Creek to find Mom and Da, and he went off on his own, coming back to meet up with me a couple weeks later. Jem was born less than a year later.” 

Brianna stared back at me expectantly, but I simply stared back at her, emotionless. I didn’t know what to feel, what to think, what to say. Silence fell over the room again. She had said the words to me, but my brain refused to digest them. 

“You and Roger are…married?” The disbelief was evident in my voice. 

Brianna swallowed hard again and nodded her head. It was then that I noticed the ring on her left finger, the one she had been messing with earlier in the day, twirling it around her finger. 

“We are. We were married in a handfasting ceremony right after we both arrived here in the colonies, but we also had a formal ceremony earlier this year, here at the Ridge.” 

She was trying to sound cheerful, but she still looked apprehensively at me. Whatever sinking feeling I had felt earlier, it hadn’t gone away. Brianna and Roger are married. _They have a child together. They have a life here together. Jeremiah calls Mom and Da cute grandparent nicknames. While I have been by myself, alone in my own time, waiting for the one day that they would come back to me, they were here settling themselves, establishing their lives._

I swallowed away a lump that had formed in my throat, and forced a smile. I caught Mom’s gaze; she looked sorrowful at me, like she felt bad for me. The sound of Brianna’s voice caused me to shift my attention back to her. 

“I didn’t want you to find out like this. I hadn’t decided how I was going to tell you just yet, but I didn’t want it to happen like this, with no warning or preparation. I told Roger to keep Jem at the cabin for the rest of the day, but he didn’t listen apparently…

“I’m sorry Kenzie. You didn’t deserve to find out like this.”

Despite my better judgement, I did what I always did; make sure others are okay before yourself. I could tell Brianna was sorry for my finding out in the way that I did, but I could also tell she was worried about how I would react, if I would be mad or not. I inhaled deeply and blinked away the excess moisture that had formed in my eyes.

“No, it’s okay, Brenna. I’m really happy for you.” 

I forced the smile to remain on my face, but when I looked to Da, I could tell he wasn’t buying it. He smiled tenderly back to me, but I could tell by the look in his eyes that he could see through my façade. Mom had once mentioned how Da would always point out how her face always gives away what she is feeling. I guess I picked up that trait as well. 

*  
*  
*

For the first time in what felt like ages, my hair was cleansed with shampoo and my skin was scrubbed from all the dirt and grime from my recent adventures. My first experience with an 18th century bathtub was quite eventful, but the water was warm and the soap smelled delightful. There was no pipe in which the water poured from, rather a bucket of warm water, but my skin rejoiced nonetheless at the cleansing sensation. 

Da had walked Brianna back to her cabin after dinner, as it was heavily dark by this time, leaving Mom and I alone to get ready for bed. We didn’t talk much, besides intermittent conversation and the occasional instructions for how to use a certain bathing instrument. Mom had laid a clean shift outside the door for me to slide on when I was done bathing, and the soft material hugged my skin. 

The guest bedroom of the house was large and spacious, with a big comfy bed situated in the middle. The thought of sleeping in an actual bed again almost made me want to cry, but for the moment, I had decided to perch myself on the chair near the window sill, combing a hairbrush through my hair. As I gazed out the window and looked out over the Ridge, I let my thoughts overtake me. 

I thought of my home back in Boston, with a heater and 21st century bathrooms. I thought of Amelia, my best friend who dropped me off before I went through the stones. I wonder how long she stayed at the base of the hill after I left? How long had she waited before she decided to leave? I thought of the coach that carried me from Boston to Wilmington, the uncomfortable seats and the rocky roads that jerked everyone to and fro. I thought of Roger finding me in the crowd of people at the tavern in Wilmington. _Don’t worry, MacKenzie, you’re safe here. We won’t let anything happen to ye._ He had said to me. I thought of Mom’s arms enveloping me in our first hug in years. I thought of Da’s eyes, which lit up when he realized who I was. 

And I thought of Brianna, my big sister. I thought back to our childhood, when the two of us would play dress up and waltz around the house with veils and white dresses. I thought of the countless hours the two of us had spent on Pinterest, planning our future weddings. The bachelorette parties we were going to plan, the list of baby names we kept on our phones, the songs we had planned to use for our daddy-daughter dances. 

All these things we had planned to do together, she had already done, and I wasn’t there for any of it. The thought of having missed out on such an event, in addition to having no knowledge of little Jeremiah, hurt me in a way I didn’t know was possible. 

I didn’t hear Mom as she stood in the doorway watching me, not until I heard the floorboard creak under her as she took a step into the room. She softly strode across the room and sat down across from me at the window sill. She was close enough that my head would lay directly in her lap if I laid down. The two of us didn’t speak initially, rather we simply basked in each other’s company. It was me who broke the silence after a while. 

“Did she ever tell you? About how she told me she was going through the stones, I mean?” I had set the hairbrush down my feet by this point, my hands twiddling with the tips of my hair. 

Mom’s eyes remained outside the window as she thought of how to answer. When she looked back to me, her eyes were sad. Her mouth opened and closed a couple times, as she contemplated how to answer. She decided on a simple nod. 

I leaned back against the window sill, folding my arms across my chest, looking outside the glass. I resisted the urge to let myself cry, my eyes concentrating on Da’s figure outside as he made his way back to the house. My voice was just above a whisper when I spoke again. 

“She didn’t tell me. I had no idea.” 

“I know.” 

My eyes shifted back to hers, and Mom was staring back at me, seeming to hold back tears herself. 

“I’m so sorry, baby. She shouldn’t have left without telling you, you deserve better than that.” She reached her hands out towards me, and I uncrossed my arms to let her take hold of my hands. She brought them up to her mouth and laid a gentle kiss on each one, then released one hand and extended her hand to stoke my cheek. Her touch was gentle and motherly, and I leaned into it. 

“We can talk about that later, though. You are so exhausted, the best thing for you right now is to get some sleep.” 

With that, I crawled into the big bed in the center of the room, and let Mom tuck the blankets around me. The room was cold, but the blankets were warm and my muscles melted into the soft mattress beneath me. 

“Sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite” Mom smiled down at me. I felt I was five years old again. 

She placed both hands on the sides of my face and bent down, placing a kiss on my forehead. Her lips lingered after the kiss though, and her voice was soft and gentle as she spoke. 

“I’m so happy you’re here. I will sleep better knowing you’re safe here with us. Da and I are just down the hall if you need anything. I love you, Kenzie.” 

“I love you too, Mama…” 

She gave one last tuck to a piece of the blanket around my body, and quietly left the room. The door closed behind her, but I could hear Da’s voice from the other side as Mom entered the hallway. 

“Is she okay?” Da’s voice was low. I heard Mom sigh before responding. 

“She’s a strong girl. She just needs time to rest.” 

“Aye, she is strong. Just look at her Ma…”

I heard Mom’s muffled giggle. Da had pulled her into a hug, the two of them still standing outside the door. After a moment, I heard their footsteps down the hallway, and the sound of a door shutting.

My eyes drooped heavily as I quickly began to float between consciousness. The room was big and cold, but I didn’t feel alone. I trusted Mom’s word, and I knew that they were only a couple feet away down the hall. Tomorrow would be a new day, and I would ask countless questions. But for now, in the safety of the house built by my Da’s own two hands, I drifted off to sleep, feeling the easiest I had felt in a long time. 

_Home. Love. Family._


End file.
